The professor's legacy

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Chapter lp.2

HE WAYFARERS LIBRARY

The
PROFESSOR'S LEGAQY

«U,y LMr8-

Alfred] Sidgwick

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J. M. DENT tf SONS Ltd.

LONDON

THE PROFESSOR'S
LEGACY

THE room in which Dacre had been asked to wait was
evidently Professor Elsler's stud}'. It was large, and
from floor to ceiling the walls were lined with books.
There was a writing-table near one of the narrow
windows, and there were other tables heaped with
pamphlets, microscopes, loose papers, and boxes, pro-
bably holding specimens. When he was first shown in
Dacre thought the room was empty, but as he looked
round he saw that a child sat in a corner by the porce-
lain stove, and that she had an open book in her hands
and was staring at him over the top of it. She was a
quaint little figure with two thick plaits of red hair,
long greenish eyes, and a pale, clear skin. She was
dressed in black, and before Dacre 's sudden appear-
ance she had evidently been crying.

" How do you do ? " he said to her in German.

The child got up and came towards him, offering
him her hand.

" How do you do? " she said in English.

"You speak English already?" said Dacre in
surprise. " How old are you? "

" I am ten," said the child. " But my mother was
English. She spoke German as you do, and she never
spoke it to me."

The Professor's Legacy

Dacre looked at the child's black frock, and
remembered hearing that Professor Elsler had recently
lost his wife.

" Have you any brothers and sisters ? " he asked.

" No," said the child ; " I wish I had. Have j^ou ? "

" I have one sister."

" What is her name?"

" Joan. What is yours? "

" Rosamund Antonia Margarethe. But I am only
called Rosamund. How old is your sister? "

" Sixteen."

" Quite old," said the child, with a sigh. " Has she
come to Fichtenstadt with you ? "

" No ; she is at home in England."

Dacre had sac down, and the child stood beside him,
looking at his face, taking his measure. As she looked
she came a little nearer. Then she put one hand on his
knee. Then he put his arm round her, and they smiled
at each other. After that they felt that they were
friends. The young man had a strong, clean-shaven
face, dark hair, and dark grey eyes. The glance of his
eyes was steady and honest, and sometimes smiling.
He was tall, and he had the tanned colour of a man
who has lived out of doors a good deal.

" What were you reading when I came in? " he
asked.

He was not in the least shy of the child, as many
young men fresh from college would have been.

" I was not reading at all. This is an atlas, not a
book, and I have to fill in a skeleton-map with the
German States, and I've made Wiirtemberg and
Elsass so big that there is no room in between for
Baden. Last week when we did England I left out
three counties because there was no room, and the
geography mistress said it must absolutely not happen

The Professor's Legacy

again. I know what she will do. First she will laugh,
and then she will pin it upon the blackboard for every
one to see, and Beate Rassmann will call me a donkey
again. If she does I shall put out my tongue at her."

" What will happen then? "

" They will probably write and tell my father that I
am the naughtiest child in the school," said Rosamund,
with profound gloom. " They did so last term."

" What had you been up to? "

" It was in the drawing lesson, when we each have a
piece of bread given us for rubbing out. Sophia Rass-
mann's piece was close to me, and ... I ate it."

" That was naughty," said Dacre.

" Beate Rassmann is never naughty. She says her
parents do not wish her to 'sociate with me. I shan't
cry in school to-morrow. I shall say I couldn't bother
to do it no better."

" But if I use a sharp knife and am careful, I could
scratch out those boundary lines," said Dacre, who
had looked at the skeleton-map. " Then, if you are
careful and use a fine pen, you would get it right."

The child's eyes were fixed on him in adoration, and
she kept close at his side when he sat down at the
writing table and began to erase the erring lines.

" Now then," he said, getting up when he had done,
1 ' try with pencil first, and while you are about it put in
Lorraine and the Palatinate too."

For some minutes the child's red head bent over the
paper while she anxiously copied the boundary-lines
from the atlas in front of her. Then she suddenly
scrambled to her feet.

" I hear my father's key in the latch," she said. " I
may only be in here when he is out."

She was in such a hurry that, as she swept her atlas
off the table, she swept the ink-pot off too. Dacre put

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The Professor's Legacy

out his hands to catch it, and was successful ; but some
ink was spilt, and a moment later when Professor
Elsler entered his study, he stood still in surprise. His
little girl, who had no business there, was offering her
black apron to a strange young man whose fingers were
dyed with ink. They were both laughing, but when
Rosamund saw her father she sped out of the room by
another door, leaving her ally to make his own excuses.
" There has been a little accident/' he began. And
then, all inky as he was, he told the Professor his name.
Here, in Fichtenstadt, it was only the name of a young
English student who had done well at Cambridge, and
had come to the great German with credentials. He
ha.d brought a letter of personal introduction from a
well-known English man of science, and this he had
sent to Professor Elsler the day before.

" Do you speak German ? " asked the Professor, who
spoke excellent English.

He was a tall, impiessive-looking man, with the
hatchet profile of a Red Indian. His manner was
dignified. He sat down in an easy-chair near his
writing-table, and while he talked he formed his first
impressions of the young Englishman. Both men
grew interested, and though Dacre could not forget
that his hands were ink-stained, he ceased to feel
embarrassed by them. Professor Elsler was one of the
most celebrated men in Europe, and this first inter-
view with him made a landmark in Dacre's experience.
He got up from it with a sense of elation.

" How long can you stay in Fichtenstadt ? " in-
quired the Professor, who liked the promise of the
young Englishman's face: the strong, rather promi-
nent jaw and the steady eyes that kindled as the talk
grew absorbing.

" I can stay as long as I please," said Dacre.
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The Professor's Legacy

" But what are your plans ? I suppose you mean to
go back and try for some post ? "

" I think not," said Dacre. " I want to go in for
research." He hesitated a moment, and then he
added: " I have private means."

The Professor looked attentively at his new
disciple. He had lived in England many years ago,
had married an English wife, and knew the island
people better than most Germans do. Dacre, he
recognised, belonged to a class that has better brains
than is generally supposed, but not the kind of brains
that runs to scientific pursuits. It must have been
a strong natural bent that had hitherto directed the
young man, and now brought him to work at zoology
in a little German town. The Professor saw tenacity
of purpose in the young man's record.

" There is plenty to do here," he said, as he ac-
companied the new recruit to the door of his study.
He did not go further than the threshold. Dacre
was looking for his hat in the gloom of an unlighted
passage wh^n he felt a little tug at his elbow and saw
Rosamund again.

" I have finished the map," she said.

" That's right," said he.

" Come into the dining-room and see it."

" Is there any one else there? "

" No."

He followed the child into an uncarpeted room,
furnished with a narrow dining-table and bent-wood
chairs. The stove had been neglected, and it was
bitterly cold. He sat down to look at the map.
Rosamund came close to his side, shivering as she
did so.

" Have you been sitting here without a fire? " he
asked.

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The Professor's Legacy

" I am not allowed to light it myself, and Luise is
out," she explained.

Dacre looked round. It was one of the old-
fashioned iron stoves that are quickly heated and
quickly cold again. A great basket of logs stood
near it.

" When will Luise be back? " he asked.

" I don't know. If I fetch you some paper and
matches, will you light it? I'm freezing."

It seemed an odd thing to do ?u a strange house,
and Dacre hesitated.

" Is there nowhere else where you can sit? " he
asked.

The child shook her head, ran off, and came back
with paper and matches, which she thrust into Dacre 's
hands.

" Do you know how to do it? " she said. " I can
show you. . . ."

The next moment the two were down on their knees
in front of the stove-door, and Dacre was making his
hands blacker than ever by trying to rake aside the
dead as,h with a log of wood. The child insisted on
helping him, and she looked at him solemnly when he
had shut the door and they were waiting for the
crackle of the flames.

" Your face is black," she said.

"So is yours," said he.

The fire began to roar, and Rosamund held up her
finger for silence. They listened and smiled at each
other.

"'.I don't know your name," she said suddenly.

" William Dacre," said he.

" I am sorry you have made your face black."

"It is rather unfortunate," he admitted.

" But the fire is burning very well."
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The Professor's Legacy

It was not only burning: it was roaring up the
chimney with considerable noise, and as they had left
a door open, it had been easy to approach them un-
observed. Some slight sound, however, caused Dacre
to look up, and as he did so he sprang to his feet. A
young and very well-dressed woman was staring at
them in amazement, and when Rosamund caught
sight of her, and with a cry of " Aunt Betty! " ran
towards her, she put out two gloved hands to ward
off the child. For a moment the situation was
ridiculous. The three people gazed at each other
and did not speak, Dacre because he could not trust
his German, and Betty, as she said later, because she
could not trust her eyes. Rosamund broke the spell.

" How did }'ou get in, Aunt Betty? " she asked,
trying to hide her hands in her apron.

" I found the hall door open."

"So it was! " exclaimed Dacre in English. " I
opened it when I was looking for my hat."

" This is Mr. Dacre from England," said the child
to her aunt. " He came to see father, and he helped
me with my map because I had no room for Baden,
and Luise is out because her sister is ill, and I was
freezing, and I think Mr. Dacre ought to wash his
face and his hands. Shall I take him into the spare
room? "

The lady replied with a little shrug of her shoulders
and a glance at Dacre that disclaimed all responsi-
bility for such goings on.

" You're not alone on the flat, are you ? " she said to
Rosamund.

" Father is in his study," whispered the child.

" I want to see him," said the lady, and without
further ado she walked briskly up to a door in a
corner of the room and opened it. From where he

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The Professor's Legacy

stood Dacre could see the book-lined study that he
had quitted a quarter of an hour ago. " Good
afternoon, Ulrich," said the lady.

And at the sound of her voice the Professor came
forward. His manner did not express much pleasure,
and when he caught sight of Dacre it expressed
surprise.

" This gentleman has been lighting a fire for Rosa-
mund, " she said.

" Where is Luise ? " said the Professor to his little
girl.

" She is out," said Rosamund.

The Professor went towards the third door of the
room.

" If you will come in here you will find soap and
water," he said to Dacre.

" Who is he ? " said Betty the moment her brother-
in-law returned.

" A young Englishman."

" Why has he come to Fichtenstadt ? "

" To work under me."

Betty looked at her celebrated brother-in-law, and
her impertinent little face expressed amusement, but
neither understanding nor respect. " Fancy coming
all the way from England to see you! " her glance
said as plainly as words could have done. Then she
sat down on the sofa and shivered.

" He found the poor little thing in a room without
a fire, I suppose," she said. " Why don't you let
her run across to us when there is no one to look
after her ? Rosamund, would you like to come out
with me this afternoon? We will go to a con-
fectioner and have chocolate and meringues."

The child looked eagerly at her father for permission,
but he did not give it. He pointed to the books and

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The Professor's Legacy

papers on the table, and told her rather sternly to
take them into the study and go on with her pre-
paration for next day's school.

" You are too strict with her," said Betty in the
child's hearing. " What is the good of schooling to
a girl? Rosamund is going to be as pretty as her
mother, and when she grows up she may say twice
two are five for all any man will care."

Instead of replying to his sister-in-law, the Pro-
fessor bade Rosamund go quickly, and shut the door
after her. As she did so Dacre reappeared, and with
a word or two of humorous apology said good-bye
again. He was going to pass Betty with a bow, when
she detained him.

" Will you come and see me? " she said. " I am
Frau Doctor Elsler, and I live in the adjoining flat.
We always have music on Sunday evenings ; but if you
would rather come some other time I will ask Rosa-
mund to meet you, and we will light fires."

" I should enjoy that," said Dacre ; and then at last
he got away.

" What a distinguished-looking young man! " said
Betty when he was out of hearing.

The Professor gave a low grunt of disapproval, and
reminded his sister-in-law that he was always busy at
this hour of the afternoon.

" He has nice manners," continued Betty, quite un-
perturbed. " He was not a bit flurried when I found
him stoking your stove, and as black as a sweep.
Would you call his eyes blue or grey ? "

" I will leave you to decide."

" I suppose he wants to learn German. I shall talk
German to him."

" I wish you would leave him alone. He has come
here to work."

The Professor's Legacy

" Will you give Otto the pleasure of your company
at supper to-night ? " said Betty, changing the subject.

" No, thank you. I'm busy."

"I shall be out."

Professor Elsler hesitated. The young woman got
up, put her hands in her muff, and laughed in the
great man's face.

" I'll tell Otto you'll come," she said. " He has
been alone three nights running. It is very dull for
him."

" Then why don't you stay at home ? "

" That would be very dull for me," she said.

II

THE daylight was beginning to fade already, and still
Betty did not come. She had promised to fetch Rosa-
mund at two o'clock and take her to the Christmas
market. It was nearly four now, and ever since two
Rosamund had waited in a fever of impatience. Twice
she had been to the adjoining flat to ask if the Frau
Doctor was back yet. She had tried to read, and found
it impossible to fix her attention. She tried to get on
with some embroidery, but now it was too dark to see
well. She had taken off her thick winter coat, other-
wise she was ready to start the moment her aunt
appeared.

Rosamund was not anxious about her Christmas
presents. They were ready long ago, all made by her
own hands, and combining beauty and utility so suc-
cessfully that she took them out of their wrappings at
least twice a day to comfort herself with a sight of
them. She had no tree to buy, either. She regretted

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The Professor's Legacy

that. She thought no one else's tree, however fine,
could afford you the pleasure a little one of your own
would. But ever since she could remember the family
tree had been lighted in her Uncle Otto's flat, and she
had gone there on Christmas Eve. Since her mother's
death four and a half years ago all festivals had lost
some of their old flavour. There was never any stir of
preparation in her own home nowadays. Her father
entertained no one except Mr. Dacre, who was always
at work with him, and often stayed to meals to save
time.

It was four years since Dacre had first come to
Fichtenstadt, but Rosamund had not seen much
of him, because she was always from home. Soon
after her tenth birthday her father had sent her to
the Dorotheenstift, a large, strictly-kept Evangelical
school in the outskirts of Bertholdsruhe. At first she
hated the monotony and the rigid discipline of the
place, but in course of time she grew used to the life,
and, from habit, fond of it. She felt strange at home
now. Even the vacations had not brought her much
to Fichtenstadt all these years. In the summer her
father sent her to the country with friends, and at
other times, except for a few days at Christmas, she
had stayed at school. This Christmas she had begged
to come home for the whole vacation, and Professor
Eisler had consented. He found that she gave no
trouble now. The four years at school had changed
her remarkably. She was as good as a copy-book
and as quiet as a nun. She wore the hideous school
uniform without a murmur. She did not vex her
father with demands or grievances. But there was
still a spark of mischief in her eyes sometimes and a
droll smile about the corners oi her mouth that Dacre
called up when he could. He thought it pitiful that a

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The Professor's Legacy

child of fourteen should be so drilled and so demure.
Besides, she had a scared way with her, the way of
a child who needs affection and tenderness, receives
both in full at a mother's hands, then suddenly loses
her mother and misses her for evermore.

At four o'clock Luise brought in coffee and lighted
the lamp.

" The Frau Doctor has forgotten you," she said to
Rosamund. " You had better take off your outdoor
things."

" Not yet," said Rosamund, very unwilling to see
the lamp lighted and the curtains drawn.

She was standing near a window and trying to see
into the street below when her father came into the
room with Dacre. At first they took no notice of her.
They talked to each other, and Professor Elsler poured
out coffee for himself and the younger man . But when
there was a pause Dacre looked at the girl near the
window, and asked her if she had been to the market
and come back again. She had told him this morning
that she was going.

" Aunt Betty has not called for me," she said in a
voice that was flat and small with disappointment.
She stood there huddled against the window, and
though she saw the meal proceeding, she did not come
forward.

" Don't you want any coffee ? " said her father.

She came to the table then and helped herself. The
Professor looked reflectively at her head, as if there
was something about it he had not classified yet.

" Why do you wear your hat at a meal ? " he asked
after a time.

" I am going out with Aunt Betty," said Rosamund.

" Where are you going? "

" To the Christmas market."

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The Professor's Legacy

" The Frau Doctor promised to come at two," said
Dacre.

The Professor listened in his judicial way without
being moved either to sympathy or impatience. He
did not understand Rosamund as well as he under-
stood sea-anemones, and though he desired to do the
best for her, and was not without fatherly affection,
he had felt ever since his wife died that the key
of communication between his child and him was
wanting.

" Can't Luise take you to the market ? " he
asked.

" She is baking her Christmas cakes," said Rosa-
mund.

" Well, you don't miss much," said the Professor.

Dacre saw the girl's eyes glisten with tears, but she
said nothing.

"I hear some one at the door," said he; and as
he spoke Rosamund sped from the room. But in
another moment she came back again, more dejected
than before.

" Who was it? " asked the Professor.

" A package of books for you. Luise wants me to
take off my hat and help her chop almonds. She says
it is too late for Aunt Betty to come now."

" Don't cry," said the Professor, not unkindly.
" That won't mend matters. What can you want to
do at that wretched market ? "

" I want to buy a tree, and trim it, and light it, and
invite little Johannes to see it, because this year he will
have no Weihnachtsfreude.:'

"Who the ... who is little Johannes? "

" Luise 's nephew. His father is in the hospital, and
they are very poor, so his mother cannot buy him a
tree. I meant to spend the thaler Uncle Otto gave

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The Professor's Legacy

me for my birthday, and have the tree in the kitchen.
It would not have been in your way, father."

The two men looked at each other.

" I can easily work two hours later to-night," said
the younger one. And then he turned to Rosamund.
" I have several Christmas presents to buy myself,"
he said. ' ' We will go to the market together. ' '

If he had been obliged to sit up all night in conse-
quence, he would have thought it worth while when
he saw her pleasure. Her jacket and gloves were on
in a moment, and her whole face was smiling as she
bid her father good-bye. The Professor took out
his pocket-book and put a five-mark note in her
hands.

" You can have a little tree of your own if you wish, ' '
he said.

The market-place was in front of the cathedral,
and for about a fortnight before Christmas was filled
with booths selling toys, cheap jewellery, cakes, and
clothes. The peasants, who came with farm produce
all the year round, had to crowd as best they could
outside the booths, 01. the pavement, and on the steps
of the minster. When Dacre and Rosamund got
there it was late afternoon. Lights twinkled in the
windows of the tall old houses, lights flared from every
stall, and many of the peasants from adjacent valleys
were still driving a brisk trade. The head-dresses
and full skirts of the countrywomen made bits of
brilliant colour in the crowd. The tall steeple of the
minster stood out against the sky ; the moon and the
surrounding snow gave radiance. Rosamund, bewil-
dered by the noise and the crush, clung to Dacre's arm
as he steered her to the corner where there were trees
for sale. The snow that had fallen in the night still
lay on their branches, but in spite of the cold they

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The Professor's Legacy

scented the air. The girl looked longingly at the
well-grown trees, but she pointed to one of the smallest
and said she would buy it. Meanwhile Dacre fixed
his choice on one of middle size, with a graceful,
tapering top.

" That is nice," he said.

" But it will cost too much," she objected.

" I don't think so," said Dacre, and he bought it and
paid for it. " For little Johannes," he said, as he put
the girl's proffered money from him.

Then they went the round of the fair, and Rosamund
spent her money on toys and candles and gingerbread
figures and gilded nuts. But when she stopped in
front of a stall covered with rather poisonous-looking
sweets, Dacre shook his head.

" They might make little Johannes ill," he said.
" We will go to a good confectioner in the Kaiser
Strasse."

This was more easily said than done, for the crowd
was dense, and to reach the outer fringe of it took time
and patience. Dacre and Rosamund were jostled on
every side, and found it difficult to keep together.
People were not exactly badly behaved, but they
mostly belonged to the classes who enjoy a rough-and-
tumble. Rosamund slipped through more adroitly
than Dacre, and she did not seem to mind the crush
as much as he did. His love of his neighbours
wavered when so many rubbed against him, and he
was thankful when they reached the minster steps,
where the throng was thinner. From here they
looked at the melee beneath them, and as they did
so some one tapped Rosamund on the shoulder. She
turned and saw her aunt, accompanied by two
young men.

" So you are here, after all," said Betty to her
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The Professor's Legacy

niece. " I was afraid you were crying your eyes
out at home. How do you do, Mr. Dacre? You
don't mean to say you have been down amongst
that crowd. Should you have the courage to take
me through it? I'm longing to go, but unless I
hung on to the arm of some one as tall as you and
as strong . . ."

Betty looked from the Englishman to her own
rather undersized cavaliers and smiled at them
provokingly. She was a dainty little figure, wrapped
in furs, not bitten by the cold, not disturbed by the
tryst she had failed to keep. Rosamund watched
her with fascinated eyes, and listened breathlessly
for Dacre 's answer. What would happen to her if
he was spirited from her side by her aunt ?

" I should have been delighted," he said, " but I
am taking charge of Rosamund."

" Rosamund ! " cried Betty, as if the idea amused
her. " Why, what is she doing here ? such a small
person in such a big crowd! We will send her and
her parcels home in a cab, and Herr Wiedemann can
accompany her if you think it necessary."

Herr Wiedemann did not look as if this programme
delighted him, but he bowed and said he was always
at the service of the Gnadige Frau.

" I expected you at two o'clock, Aunt Betty. Why
didn't you come? " interpolated Rosamund.

" I'm sure I don't know," said Betty; " I suppose I
forgot all about you."

" Come, Rosamund," said Dacre, " we have a
great deal to do still. We must get to the Kaiser
Strasse."

If Betty felt annoyed, she was too clever to show it.

" Will you come to my house on Christmas Eve ? "
she said to Dacre. " It is months since you have been

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to see me. We always have a tree for Rosamund, as
she is the only child in the family — at least, my
husband calls it Rosamund's tree. He trims it for
himself in reality. I have bought nothing for it yet.
He will be furious when I get home."

" I am going to England for Christmas," said Dacre,
when he could put in a word.

" I suppose you will soon be back again ? "

" In a fortnight."

" I thought Ulrich would not spare you long. If I
were Rosamund I should be jealous. He spares her
very comfortably year after year. She ought to
have been a boy, of course. With a man like that
girls are of no account. Poor little thing! he can't
keep her at that beastly school for ever. What a sin
to dress her as they do! I don't like being seen with
her by daylight."

Betty addressed these remarks to Dacre in an
audible undertone, and Rosamund listened to them.
Her aunt had both hands in a big muff, and she looked
up at Dacre with a gleam of mockery in her bright
blue eyes.

" It is as light as day where we are standing," said
Dacre, lifting his hat. And again he said: " Come,
Rosamund."

For some time the girl walked silently beside him,
brooding over what her aunt had said.

" I know my clothes are horrid," she suddenly
broke out. "J wish I could have pretty ones like
Aunt Betty's."

" I dare say you will when you grow up," said
Dacre. " But clothes don't matter."

"Don't they?"

" Not a bit."

" Do you wear horrid clothes, then ? "
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The Professor's Legacy

" N — o," said Dacre, laughing. " You see, I have a
tailor in London who looks after me."

" I wish I could leave the Dorotheenstift and live
at home. I wish you would ask my father to let me."

" My dear child," said Dacre, " I have no right to
interfere in such a matter. Your father would not
listen to me. You should ask him yourself."

She received this suggestion with a little sigh, and
said nothing more ; but she did not look happy again
till they reached the Kaiser Strasse, where the lighted
shops and crowded pavements diverted her ideas.
Here they bought sweets and cakes to her heart's con-
tent, and some picture-books and a large Noah's ark.
Dacre easily persuaded her that it was as much his
right as hers to provide for little Johannes.

" Consider how often Luise opens the door to me,"
he reminded her.

" She says that you are like a son to my father,"
said Rosamund rather wistfully.

They had arrived at the windows of a jeweller's
shop, and Dacre was looking at some small ladies'
watches.

" I want to choose one for my sister," he said.
"Will you help me? "

" Are you going to give her one for a Christmas
present? "

" I think she would like it, don't you? "

They went in together, and the tray of watches was
set before them.

" You choose the prettiest," said Dacre.

The girl hung over them, fascinated and uncertain.
She inclined at first to a green one elaborately set
with small diamonds. But Dacre demurred.

" I like these plainer ones better for a girl of her
age," he said, pointing to another row.

18

The Professor's Legacy

" They are more expensive," said the assistant, and
he mentioned the price. Rosamund looked up when
she heard it, but she did not see any sign of surprise
or dismay on her companion's face.

" Have you made your choice? " he said, smiling
at her.

She picked out another green one of a softer colour
than the first, and set with seed pearls.

" Very well/' said Dacre, and then he chose a
second watch — a small plain gold one — and two long
gold chains.

" Have you two sisters, then? " asked Rosamund.

" Yes," he said. He had paid for his purchases
and asked the man to make separate parcels of them.

" But you have always told me you had one," said
Rosamund, looking incredulous and mystified.

" I have only just discovered the other," said
Dacre.

Rosamund held her breath. His glance told his
meaning more plainly than his words, yet she felt
afraid to interpret it. He watched the man make
up the two little parcels, and when they were ready
he put one in his pocket and one in Rosamund's
hands.

" For you," he said, seeing that she could hardly
believe it.

"Oh! " said Rosamund.

They were out of the shop and half-way down the
street before she said anything more. Then she said
that she had a mark left of her money, and that she
would wish to buy Dacre a Christmas present with it.

" Would you like some roses? " she said, standing
still in front of a flower-shop.

" Very much," said Dacre.

She ran in, and came out with a deep-red rose
19

The Professor's Legacy

mounted with maiden-hair. Her face showed sur-
prise and disillusion.

" I wanted to give you a thousand," she said mourn-
fully.

Ill

ONE winter afternoon, four years later, Professor
Elsler sat alone in his study. He had been told this
morning by the greatest medical authority in Fich-
tenstadt that it behoved him to set his house in order.
He had hardly a month to live !

Now he was sitting close to his stove and thinking
things over. His work in life had been a success.
He was one of the great men of Europe. From all
parts of the world for many years past now young
men had gathered round him to listen and learn. His
great work on Corals was unfinished, but William
Dacre, the disciple he loved and trusted, would carry
it on. If Dacre had been his son the Professor could
have died happy. But when he passed away his
name and race would pass with him, for his only
brother Otto had died two years ago and had left
no children. To be sure, there was Rosamund; but
who counts a girl when it comes to a question of
work and name ? Certainly not a man like Professor
Elsler, who, ever since the death of his wife, had been
something of a misogynist. Besides, he hardly knew
Rosamund. He had packed her off to school at an
early age, partly because a little girl did not fit into a
widower's household, always more or less overrun by
young men, partly because he wished to separate her
from Betty. He had fixed on the Dorotheenstift,

20

The Professor's Legacy

where the discipline was rigid, the uniform ugly, the
food plain, and in this chilly establishment the girl
had lived now for eight years. But on her last birth-
day the Professor, considering her age, had admitted
that her school life must soon come to an end. He
had written at the proper time to say so, and just
before Christmas Rosamund arrived home " for
good," as she said.

The Professor's memory went back to the moment
)f her arrival. Dacre had been sitting with him
when she knocked and then at once came in. It was
certainly impossible to imagine any one less like
Betty, and the Professor looked at her with satis-
faction. She still wore her school uniform — a woollen
gown of shepherd's plaid, a long black cloak, and a
mushroom hat with a weather-beaten bow of ribbon
on it. Her hair was almost invisible in front, and
plaited in a close, clumsy coil at the back. As she
advanced towards her father she made him a quaint
little curtsey and offered him a ceremonial kiss. She
curtsied to Dacre too, and blushed with confusion
when he got up, shook hands with her, and gave her
his chair. No doubt she considered it her business
to fetch chairs for her elders, men as well as women.
When she had sat with them a few minutes, and had
answered her father's formal questions about her
journey and the health of the head-mistress, he had
led her out of the room and commended her to the
care of Luise. Then he returned to his study, satis-
fied that he had done all any one could reasonably
expect of him.

For the next few days her presence at meals had
been a recurrent surprise to him. Between times
he forgot her. Then the upsetting festival of Christ-
mas came, bringing its usual interference with work

21

The Professor's Legacy

and its usual family reunion. Betty expected them
to spend Christmas Eve with her, and she had made
the Professor a present of a pair of braces embroidered
with rosebuds. He had made her a present of a
bracelet, and to his great annoyance she had thought
it necessary to kiss him by way of thanks. Her
onslaught made him cough, and when he recovered
he saw that she was kissing Rosamund, and that
Rosamund seemed to like it. Ever since the aunt
and niece had been inseparable.

Until this morning the Professor had not known
that his life was in immediate danger, though he had
known for some time past that he was ill. After the
first natural shock of distress and regret he gathered
himself together and considered what he had to do.
The fulfilment of his work was provided for. William
Dacre would carry it on. His money affairs were in
order; but his will had been made at Rosamund's
birth, when his wife was still living, and to that he
now desired to add a codicil. He had sent for Dacre
and he had sent for his lawyer, for he knew that he
must not play with time. At any moment he might
go out like a candle in the wind.

It was eight years now since Dacre had first come
to Fichtenstadt to work under Professor Elsler. A
deep friendship had slowly arisen between the two
men, growing at first out of the work they did
together, and strengthened as time went on by the
recognition in each other of those sterling qualities
on which a personal friendship between men of their
kind must ultimately rest. A year ago the Pro-
fessor had asked the young Englishman to help him
complete his lifelong work on Corals. They had
spent the whole winter over one part of it, and were
getting on. The only drawback to Dacre 's satis-

22

The Professor's Legacy

faction with this way of life was his fear that it could
not last long. He had seen for some time that the
Professor was seriously ill, and it was only through
his urgent persuasion that the great specialist had
been consulted. He felt anxious to know the result
of the interview, and he started the moment he got
the Professor's message asking him to come. When
he reached the flat and saw his friend huddled near
the stove it seemed to Dacre that the sick man had
journeyed a long way towards the Valley of the
Shadow since the day before. The shock of the
morning had helped to wither him. His skin looked
like parchment, and his hatchet profile showed the
waste of months.

" It is a bitter day," said Dacre, holding his own
hands towards the stove and trying half uncon-
sciously to account for the Professor's looks by a
reference to the weather.

" I saw the Geheimrath this morning," said the
Professor, who never beat about the bush. " He can-
not help me. But I am glad you persuaded me to
go to him."

" He cannot help you? "

" He gives me a month ... at most. He will not
promise as much as that. It is well I know, because
I have things to arrange. These cases are curious.
There is little pain and little warning. And then the
end comes."

The older man saw that Dacre was profoundly
moved. He ceased to speak because the sight of his
friend's grief did more to unnerve him than the
verdict itself had done. Both men were struggling
not to show emotion, but Dacre's stillness and his
stricken face spoke eloquently to one who knew him
well.

23

The Professor's Legacy

" I suppose the Geheimrath is the best opinion in
Fichtenstadt? " he said at length.

" He is the best opinion in Germany ... on such
cases as mine," said the Professor.

" I wish you had gone to him six months ago,"
said the younger man, with bitter self-reproach. "I
ought to have seen, when I arrived here in September
that you were altered . . . that you were ill."

"It would have made no difference," said the
Professor tranquilly.

His long old-fashioned pipe with a china bowl lay
within his reach, and he stretched out his hand for it.
He felt the need of a sedative. But his hand was
weak and unsteady, and as he lifted the pipe he
dropped it. The bowl broke on the uncarpeted
floor. Dacre picked up the pieces, and then went
to the other end of the room, where there was a rack
with pipes. He brought one back with him, filled it
from the pouch on the table, and handed it to the
Professor with a light. Then he sat down again and
watched the puffs of smoke and the look of comfort
and enjoyment that gradually stole over his old
friend's face. His thoughts travelled to the book at
which they had laboured together, and which he
would now have to finish alone.

" It is a great mistake to marry late in life," said
the Professor.

Dacre's ideas were suddenly diverted from the
work that had been all in all to his friend. They
turned at once to the daughter who had apparently
been so little.

"Does Rosamund know that you are ill?" he
asked.

" She knows nothing," said the Professor
"Poor child!"

24

The Professor's Legacy

" When I am dead she will have no one belonging
to her except an uncle in England whom she has
never seen."

" And her aunt here."

" I do not count on my sister-in-law for any-
thing," said the Professor. " She is wrapt up in
herself."

" She seems very fond of Rosamund."

" She takes fancies . . . and her fancies do not
last. She has never had a permanent friendship
with any one of her own sex. She is incapable of it."

In eight years Dacre had seen and heard enough
of Betty to know that this was true. Her quarrels
with women and her flirtations with men were
notorious in the little town.

" Who is the English uncle? " he asked. " Is he
married ? Has he a home ? "

" He is a doctor in London. His name is Charles
Arden, and he is a widower. Since my wife died
we have not corresponded. I know nothing of his
present circumstances. My will was made at Rosa-
mund's birth, and it appoints Charles Arden and my
brother Otto as executors. When my brother died
I ought to have appointed some one else in his place.
But it is not the business matters that are on my
mind — it is Rosamund. If I leave her to the care of
any one here except Betty it is an open slight. For
my brother's sake I would rather not do it."

"It is usual to appoint men as executors," said
Dacre.

" No doubt. And you see what follows if I appoint
any one in this town: he will look after the child's
investments and leave the rest to Betty. That is
the last thing I desire."

" What do you wish for Rosamund ? "

The Professor's Legacy

" I should like her to go to her uncle in England for
a time. She ought to see something of her mother's
country. I will write and find out if he can take her."

" If he is a widower there may be difficulties. How
old a man is he? "

" He must be sixty. I have never seen much of
him. We are strangers to each other. I cannot
expect him to make sacrifices for a niece he does not
know. But there is no one here either, now that
my brother and Professor Rinke are dead. I hope
her uncle will look after her."

" I suppose there will be a second guardian and
trustee, though? "

"If you accept the position, there will be. Other-
wise not."

"Me!" exclaimed Dacre, rather startled for a
moment. " But I should be of so little use, as I am
not married."

" It seems to me a very natural appointment,"
said the Professor. "Of course, it transfers Rosa-
mund's affairs to England, but I have no objection
to that. Your duties and responsibilities would be
purely financial. Rosamund will have to live with
her uncle, or with people chosen by him, till she
marries. I hope she will not be long with Betty.
In some ways I know you as if you were my son.
You have been as a son to me. You are to carry on
my work. I ask you to befriend my child too."

" I will do anything you wish," said Dacre. He
made no verbal protestations of gratitude, but his
quiet manner was expressive. He owed a great deal
to the Professor, he clung to him with affection and
regard, he was about to lose him. To accept service
for him was a privilege and a consolation. " I will
most gladly do it," he said again, v #<>

26

The Professor's Legacy

" Rosamund will not be well off," said the Professor.
" I have not saved much. But in this country two
thousand pounds is considered a respectable dowry
for a girl."

" I suppose so," said Dacre.

" As far as looks go ... she fortunately resembles
her mother, and not me."

Dacre took a cigar from his case and lighted it.

" Does she resemble her mother in nature too?"
he asked. " I never think she is much like
you."

" I know more of many of my students than I
know of my only child," said the Professor rather
sadly. " She seems tractable enough at present
. . . too tractable, perhaps. She is dazzled and
impressed by Betty. I wish they were not so much
together."

" There really seems no one else for her here," said
Dacre.

" How old is your sister ? "

" She is twenty-four."

"Are you rich or poor? Well as I know you, I
hardly know that. You have the reticence of your
country in such matters."

" I have a good income," said Dacre.

" You never think of marriage ? "

" I have thought more of my work."

" Marriage need not interfere with work."

" I have sometimes feared it must."

" A girl like Rosamund would be wax in your
hands. You could train her as she should go."

" Are you proposing that I should marry Rosa-
mund?" exclaimed Dacre.

" I don't propose it. I only want you to understand
before I die that there is no one I trust as I do you.

27

The Professor's Legacy

It would make me happy to give you my child

to-morrow."

" But would it make Rosamund happy ? "

" Bless me! " said the Professor testily. " If you

give any one a kitten, do you consult the kitten?

What is Rosamund more than a kitten, I should

like to know ... as compared with you ? "
"Hush !" said Dacre.

IV

THE Professor turned hastily, and saw that Rosa-
mund was standing in the doorway. Dacre felt
sure that she had heard what her father said, but he
hoped and believed that, though she had heard
herself compared with a kitten, she had come a
moment too late to hear herself offered like a kitten
to him.

" Aunt Betty is here, and would be glad to see
you," she said to her father.

" What does she want ? " growled the Professor.

But if he had meant to deny himself, he was too
late. Betty tripped in, bringing with her an artificial
scent of violets and the swish of silk. Her brother-
in-law, like most men, detested both, all the more
because they were inseparable from Betty. She had
never been able to cast a spell over him, and her
manner to him was a little uneasy in consequence.
She did not know how to deal with men she could not
charm. Dacre had long ago come into this category,
and as she passed him she shook hands coldly. When
he had first come to Fichtenstadt she had tried to put
him in her pocket, and had failed, not because he dis-

28

The Professor's Legacy

liked her, but because he was too busy to accept her
invitations. Since those early days they had rarely
met.

" Are you better to-day, Ulrich ? " she said to her
brother-in-law, but she did not wait for an answer.
" I want to speak to you about Rosamund," she
went on at once. Then she paused and looked round,
but her niece had left the room.

" Won't it wait? " said the Professor.

" You cut me short yesterday."

" You spent an hour here just as I had to prepare
a lecture. At the end of the time I understood that
Rosamund wanted a new hat."

" I suppose you wish your only child to look as if
she had escaped from an orphan asylum when she
walks about the streets of Fichtenstadt, where the
very sparrows know her. I would lend her some
clothes, but as she is three inches taller than I am,
even my trained skirts . . . By the way, every one
is going to wear trained skirts this summer, dust or no
dust, so if you dislike them you had better go to
some place where people don't follow the fashions."

" I think of doing so," said the Professor.

" Of course, if you are going to bury Rosamund
again this summer her skirts won't matter."

" I am not going to bury Rosamund."

Betty glanced at her brother-in-law's grim profile.

" Where are you going ? " she said.

" I wish I knew," said he.

" Wherever you go, Rosamund will want clothes."

" I suppose so," said the Professor absently.

" Shall I get what is necessary? "

" Certainly not. She has that already. But if it
will give me peace and you pleasure to get what is
unnecessary ..."

29

The Professor's Legacy

The Professor produced his pocket-book and took
some paper money from it.

" You needn't give me money," said Betty. "I'll
send you the bills.'*

" I will have no bills," said the Professor. " What
you get for Rosamund you are to pay for at once.
Here are two hundred marks; that must do."

" To turn her out presentably I want a thousand/'
said Betty, her eyes twinkling and her lips pouting as
she put the money in her purse. " The poor girl
hasn't a rag. By the way, you have not forgotten
that she is to spend this evening with me ? "

" I had forgotten it; but as she has spent every
evening this week with you . -iw'tr

" Poor child! what else should she do? You and
Mr. Dacre are always locked up together. Do you
want her to lie on the doormat and wait for you to
come out ? "

" I don't want her to be sillier than she can help in
any way," said the Professor.

" I can't think where she gets her sweet, unselfish
nature from. She came in quite early this morning to
bring me her good wishes and some flowers she had
bought with her own money."

Betty paused. The Professor resettled himself
impatiently in his chair and said nothing. Dacre
wished she would go. He could see that her presence
acted like an irritant on his friend.

" One likes to be remembered," she resumed.
" Family affection is such a precious thing. I would
die for any one belonging to me."

" It is a great satisfaction to hear you say so,"
said the Professor; "but as Mr. Dacre and I are
busy . . ."

" I agree with Christian Witt," said Betty, getting
30

The Professor's Legacy

up: " the pursuit of science turns a man into an
inhuman monster."

The Professor allowed a sigh of relief to escape him
when he saw Betty make a move, and he tried to get
up and attend her to the door, but Dacre intercepted
him.

" I forgot to ask if you were better to-day, Ulrich,"
said Betty, her attention attracted by her brother-in-
law's slow and feeble movements.

" You asked the moment you came in," said the
Professor.

" But did you answer me? "

" You forgot to wait for the answer."

" Then we are quits," said Betty, " for you have
forgotten that to-day is my birthday."

" I wish you many happy returns," said the Pro-
fessor, looking anxiously at the door, which stood wide
open, while Betty lingered on the threshold.

" All my friends remembered me except you."

" If you want me to apologise at any length, will
you come in and shut the door? " said the Professor,
who was shivering. " I have been warned against
chills."

Betty made a little grimace, and addressed herself
to Dacre, who stood close by.

" Are you going to the Freemasons' Ball to-night ? "
she asked.

" No," said Dacre.

She said nothing more, but nodded her head at both
men and disappeared.

"I am almost reconciled to leaving this world when I
reflect that I shall not be taking Betty with me," said
the Professor. " I certainly should not like Rosa-
mund to be left long in her charge. A girl of that
age is very impressionable."

The Professor's Legacy

Dacre did not pursue the subject. He saw that the
Professor was anxious to proceed to affairs of business,
for he had begun to sort some papers by his side. He
had been to the British Consulate and to his lawyers
that morning, and he explained to Dacre what was
being done. There was house property that it might
be well to sell for Rosamund's benefit. Otherwise,
when the codicil to his will was drawn up and signed
everything would be in good order. The lawyers had
promised to get it ready and send it for signature this
evening. The two men discussed questions of invest-
ment for some time, and then Dacre got up to go. He
promised to return later in the day.

On his way out he went into the dining-room, where
some of the Professor's books were kept, to get one
that he wanted. He had expected to find the room
empty, but Rosamund was there, and she had littered
one end of the table with her sewing. As he opened
the door she looked up, and then immediately looked
down at her needle again. That was always the way
she treated him of late. She would not speak to
him if she could help it, and when he made friendly
advances to her she retreated. He felt vexed about
it, but he did not know what to do. As he watched
her and thought of the grief and loneliness that
menaced her such a little way along life's road, he
desired more than ever to be her friend. But she
seemed as shy as a bird and as anxious to edge away.

" You look busy," he said, going up to the table.
" Are you making yourself a gown? "

" I am altering one of Aunt Betty's," said the girl
without lifting her eyes.

She went on sewing with great speed, while Dacre
went to the bookcase and found the volume he wanted.
When he turned round again Rosamund had risen,

3*

The Professor's Legacy

and was putting her things into a big cardboard
box.

" Have you finished ? " he asked.

" For the present," she said.

The coldness of her manner perplexed him. Since
he had taken her to the Christmas market four years
ago he had hardly seen her till she came back from
school last December. He spent most of his vaca-
tions in England. He thought she looked frail and
sensitive and undeveloped. Her clothes, as Betty
said, disfigured her. To-day she wore a dreadful
maroon merino and a black bib apron, her hair was
screwed back in a shapeless lump, and her hands were
red and rough with cold. But Dacre paid less atten-
tion to these ugly details than to the uncommon
beauty of her eyes, which had charmed him when
she was a child. She was a child still, he decided,
in spite of her eighteen years. He wondered what
he had done to estrange her. He remembered what
her father had been saying as she stood at the study
door an hour ago, and he wished he knew how much
she had heard. In spite of her forbidding air, he
drew a chair from the table and sat down.

" Your aunt has been telling your father that you
want some new clothes," he said, beginning a long
way from the point.

" Aunt Betty is very kind to me," said Rosamund.
" I think of telling my father that I would rather live
with her than with him."

" Don't do that," said Dacre; " it would vex your
father."

" My father often vexes me," said she.

If her purpose was to anger Dacre, she failed; but
she startled him. He had thought her too gentle for
the battle of life — too meek to hold her own.

33 B

The Professor's Legacy

"It is often the way with us older folk," he said.
" We mean well, but . . ."

" My father would never miss me," she interrupted,
not liking his ironical tone. " He has you."

" I don't live with him. I am not his child."

" You take the place of his child. He listens for
your step. When you come he sends me out of the
room. He discusses me with you."

" He has hardly ever mentioned you to me until
to-day."

" Because all these years I have been out of sight
and out of mind. It is not right. Parents have a
duty towards their children."

" I suppose they have, but somehow the sentiment
doesn't sound pretty on your lips," said Dacre.
" Was it at the Dorotheenstift that they taught you
this modern version of the fifth commandment ? "

He could have laughed at the flash of horrified
denial in the girl's eyes, as for the first time that day
she looked full at him. But by the time she spoke
her profile was drolly complacent and severe again.

" Aunt Betty thinks very strongly on the subject,"
she said. " At the Dorotheenstift they were old-
fashioned in their ideas . . . like you and my
father."

She reminded Dacre of a child who is as naughty
as it dares, and is half afraid of its own daring. But
he was distressed to find that she resented his intimacy
with her father. Of course, it was Betty's work,
and he cast about for some way of undoing her
mischief.

" I suppose I am old-fashioned," he said. " Your
father is ill, as you know. I think you should be
taking care of him, and not troubling about yourself
at all."

34

The Professor's Legacy

"Is he very ill? " said the girl, taking alarm at
once.

" Not ill enough to go to bed," said Dacre, after
a moment's deliberation. Without the Professor's
permission he could not tell the girl the truth. " But
he needs care."

" Oh, what can I do ? " cried Rosamund, forgetting
her own grievances at once.

Dacre looked at his watch.

" You can see to his comfort in little ways," he
said. " He likes his coffee at four. It is five minutes
to four now."

" Luise is out. She is always unpunctual lately.
Aunt Betty says she is quite past her work."

" Perhaps she is, poor old soul," said Dacre. " But
she has served your father and his father before him
for fifty years. Can't you get some one to help her ? "

All anger and sullenness had fled for the moment
from Rosamund's face. She was clearing the table
as fast as she could, and she looked at Dacre, as if his
plea for the old servant convinced and touched her.

" We tried last summer," she said, " but it doesn't
answer. Before they come Luise weeps and moans,
and when they are there she leads them such a life that
they run away. But she will let me help, and I love
doing things in the house. Aunt Betty says that if
I don't guard against it I shall be a regular barn-door
hen, and that no sensible man will want to speak
to me."

" What does your aunt want you to do, then ? "

" Dress well and talk well. She says men are like
birds, attracted by a voice and fine feathers."

" Surely not in this country of notable housewives."

" Aunt Betty says that most men will canonise a
housewife and run after the woman who charms them,

35

The Professor's Legacy

and that she would rather be run after than pine away
on a pedestal."

Dacre's reply was inarticulate, but not inexpressive.

" I suppose you don't like Aunt Betty," said
Rosamund. " You and my father always agree."

" I think she ought to know better than to talk
such rubbish to you," said Dacre.

" Perhaps you think I ought to know better than to
repeat it."

" I do."

" Very soon my father will think of me just as he
does of Aunt Betty," said Rosamund, flushing un-
comfortably at Dacre's curt reply. " I can see it
coming. He has a poor opinion of women."

" He will have a high opinion of you ... if you
deserve it," said Dacre. " This room ought to be
warmer. His doctor has told him to keep warm.
Several times lately I have found the stoves
neglected."

" They will never be neglected again," said Rosa-
mund. " He shall find out that I am of more use than
a kitten."

" I was afraid that you had heard that."

Dacre hesitated, and looked searchingly at Rosa-
mund. She met his glance without embarrassment,
but her eyes were alight with indignation.

" I opened the door just as he said it," she went on ;
" I could not help hearing."

" But you did not hear what went before," he
ventured.

"No. What was it?"

" A business matter between your father and me."

" A business matter that led my father to call me a
kitten compared with you! Can't you tell me more
about it?"

36

The Professor's Legacy

" No, I can't," said Dacre.

" I suppose you agree with my father? "

" Your father meant nothing unkind," said Dacre,
getting up and preparing to go. " He meant that
you were young and inexperienced. I suppose you
will admit that?"

" I shall never forget it," said Rosamund. " Aunt
Betty says that you have taken my place with my
father, and this convinces me that she is right. You
are his son ; I am only a kitten. There is the situa-
tion in a nutshell."

" I am obliged to go now," said Dacre; " I have
an appointment at half-past four. I suppose I shan't
see you when I come back to-night."

"No," said Rosamund; "I shall be with Aunt
Betty."

She watched him as he left the room, and then she
went to the window and watched him cross the road.
Then she relighted the stove, and afterwards went
into the kitchen to make the coffee. Her father
seemed glad to find it ready for him when he came
into the dining-room a little later.

" You are getting useful and thoughtful," he said
to Rosamund.

" It was Mr. Dacre who reminded me," said the
girl.

V

WHEN Rosamund went across to her aunt's flat at five
o'clock, she took with her the big cardboard box con-
taining her aunt's gown. She wore the black silk
that had been made for her confirmation two years
ago. It was so badly cut that her figure looked
wooden and angular in it; the skirt showed her

37

The Professor's Legacy

ankles, the sleeves showed her wrists, and the bodice
fastened down the front with jet buttons. It was a
terrible gown for a pretty girl of eighteen to wear,
but in spite of it Rosamund's face was aglow with
pleasure and excitement. She was so childish still
that her mood changed quickly, and when she rang
her aunt's bell she had put from her mind her troubles
of the afternoon. To her ignorant eyes her father
looked much as usual while he drank his coffee. He
turned over the leaves of a pamphlet as he sat at
table, and looked up once when he wanted his cup
refilled, and a second time to tell her to go to the
florist across the way for some flowers for her aunt.

" Is she expecting any one except you to-night? "
he asked.

" I don't think so," said Rosamund, with obvious
embarrassment. " Of course, Herr Witt is often
there."

Her father returned to his pamphlet without
showing further curiosity, and his daughter breathed
again. His question had touched on dangerous
ground. Her aunt had given up her usual birthday
party, and had arranged instead to go to the Free-
masons' Ball, and to take her niece with her. " Don't
say anything to your father about it," Betty had
counselled; " I will manage it with him." When
she came away from the Professor's study this after-
noon she had vaguely told Rosamund that it was all
right, but that she was to hold her tongue and dress
at her aunt's flat. Ever since Rosamund had come
back from school six weeks ago, Betty had taken
her here and there in this half-surreptitious fashion,
and the girl had learned to believe that her father did
not mind where they went together as long as he was
not troubled about it, and that the less she said of their

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The Professor's Legacy

pleasurings the more there would be of them. In this
case the want of an evening dress had been a difficulty,
but Betty had fished out a summer one that she said
would do very well for the occasion, and had told
Rosamund how to alter it.

" You will find it just the same story when you are
married," she said to the girl. " If you ask your
husband for what you want, you won't get it; if you
take it, nine times out of ten he won't say much.
Anyhow, you've had your fun."

" Are all men alike, then? " asked Rosamund.

"All husbands are."

" I may never marry."

" I shall see that you do. You have no one else to
look after you in that way. I don't suppose it has
ever entered your father's head to think of your future.
He might just as well let you stay with me altogether.
I suppose you have told Luise not to wait up for you ?
If we enjoy ourselves we shall be late."

It never occurred to Rosamund that there could
be an " if " in the matter. How could she fail to
enjoy a real grown-up ball, the first to which she
had ever been admitted? The little drawbacks to
her debut, her lack of a gown, her lack, in fact, of
everything to set off her looks, did not detract much
from her pleasure. The pageant would be brilliant
and delightful, and so by some miracle would be her
part in it. The fairy godmother would not change
Aunt Betty's old gown to golden raiment. Those
days were gone by. But fairy princes still walked
the earth, and beheld the daughters of men that they
were fair, and it was the prerogative of a fairy prince
to discover beauty, even when it went sadly in old
clothes. Rosamund never doubted that she would
dance a great deal. At school all the girls had looked

39

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forward to the time when they would go to balls, and
none of them seemed to doubt that a ball was a
triumphal progress, whether you were pretty or
plain. As Rosamund waited at her aunt's door, her
whole body felt alert with impatience and anticipa-
tion. Her words tumbled over each other as she
thrust her box into the maid's hands, and explained
that she would come back directly. Then she ran
helter-skelter downstairs, and she ran so heedlessly
that at the turn of the flight she nearly fell over a
big burly man just coming up.

" Acht geben! " he said as he steadied her, " is the
house on fire? "

It was Christian Witt, and it seemed to Rosamund
that all the raptures of life were crowding themselves
into one glorious hour. Whenever she met Christian
Witt she walked on tiptoe for hours after, and now he
had actually put his hand firmly on her arm while
she regained her balance. A subject helped on his
feet by a monarch could not feel more honoured.

" Where are you going in such a hurry? " he asked
her.

"To the flower-shop opposite," she said; "it is
Aunt Betty's birthday, you know . . ."

" I didn't know," he interrupted.

" My father forgot about it, and he wishes to send
her some flowers."

" I will come with you and get her some flowers too,"
said the great man ; so Rosamund had the felicity of
descending the last flight of steps beside him. He wore
a long fur-lined coat, and he carried some fur gloves.
Rosamund admired these things enormously. She
had never seen him in the fur-lined coat before.

Christian Witt was the idol now occupying Betty's
pedestal. The pedestal was always there, but the

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The Professor's Legacy

idols suffered change. Christian Witt seemed to stay,
partly, no doubt, because Betty knew he would not
care a rap if she deposed him. He occupied half the
pedestals in Fichtenstadt now that Michaelis had
gone to Dresden, and the position bored him. His
business in life was music; but unfortunately he
could not pursue it to his profit without meeting
women who fell in love with him. He was rather
inclined to fall in love himself, lightly and cheerfully
and by no means for aU time. He was a big fair-
haired man, not corpulent yet, but inclined that way.
In this country his figure would have saved him
devotees, but in Fichtenstadt the favourite Hans
Sachs was twice his girth, and, as an object of
feminine devotion, his rival. His work was his
pleasure; he enjoyed life, and he was quite sure
that there was nothing better to be in the world
than an eminent German musician. He played the
piano well, and the violin passably, and he made a
shift to sing. But he was at his best facing an
orchestra. That was his instrument, and people
foresaw that he might be called to the Opera House
in Bertholdsruhe when the present man went.

He was not in love with Betty, but he liked going
to her house. She was an Austrian by birth, and
had something of the grace and gaiety of tempera-
ment commoner amongst her countrypeople than
amongst Germans. She had pleasant rooms, good
food and wine, and more patience than most women
with chamber music. He could meet other men
there and play quartets and trios hour after hour
without a murmur from his hostess. She would even
sit by and listen, and make enthusiastic remarks
about any little minuet or scherzo that did not last
long. Rosamund had made his acquaintance six

The Professor's Legacy

weeks ago when she came back from school, and as
she was at an impressionable age she joined the
majority, and fell in love with him. It was a very
serious affair. She had bought his photograph, and
often looked at it secretly, and the desire of her
heart was to be his pupil. She had not dared to tell
her aunt so, because she could not trust herself to
speak of Christian Witt without blushing, and she
was shrewd enough to guess that any symptoms of
the kind would irritate Betty. She had not asked
her father for music lessons, because she was not in
the habit of asking him for anything she wanted.
Eight years had estranged her from him, and no one
had said a word to mend matters until Dacre spoke
this afternoon. But she was not thinking of her
father as she crossed the road in the dark of the winter
afternoon with Christian Witt. She wished she
could have spun out the proud moment when they
entered the shop together and he asked for flowers.
The young woman at the counter was all eagerness to
serve him. The Grand Duke, who lived mostly at
Bertholdsruhe, was not as well known in Fichten-
stadt as Christian Witt. She knew Rosamund too,
and greeted her with more respect than usual, as was
only natural. She brought forward her most beauti-
ful flowers, and Christian turned to Rosamund and
asked her which he had better choose.

" Does your aunt like roses or camellias ? " he asked.
" Or perhaps one of these baskets with hyacinths and
tulips ? "

11 1 am sure she would like that," said Rosamund,
and Christian at once decided on it.

" What shall I take ? " she asked, consulting him in
her turn ; and he helped her to choose some lilies of
the valley and roses mounted together. He saw that

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The Professor's Legacy

she had not brought much to spend, because she held
the thaler her father had given her in her hand.

Betty looked surprised when her niece entered the
room with Christian Witt, and when she heard that
they had been at the flower-shop together, she said,
"How amusing!" but a moment later she sent
Rosamund out of the room to put the roses and
lilies in water, and her glance followed her niece
derisively.

" My brother-in-law is reaping what he sowed," she
said. " He has always neglected the girl, and now he
is sorry that she has neither looks nor manners. He
leaves her to me; but what can I do with such a
figure and such awkward ways? Did you ever see
such clothes ? "

" I don't see much v/rong with the child, except that
she is young for her age," said Christian bluntly.
" She will learn to dress up and use her eyes soon
enough, I dare say. Is it true that her father is very
ill?"

" He always looked like a mummy and behaved like
a bear," said Betty. " I don't know that he is worse
than usual."

" Who would look after his daughter if he died? "

" There is no one but me. So I hope he won't die
just yet. I don't know that I want the girl more on
my hands than she is already."

The door opened as Betty finished speaking, and
Rosamund appeared again.

" The room is full of flowers now," she said. " Which
of them will you wear to-night, Aunt Betty? "

" Where are you going to-night ? " asked Christian.

" I have two tickets for the Freemasons' Ball,"
said Betty. " I have not made up my mind to use
them."

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Rosamund stared at her aunt as if she could not
believe her ears.

" But we have talked of it for days! " she cried.
" My dress is ready on the spare-room bed. Mr. Dacre
found me busy with it. Luckily, he asked no incon-
venient questions."

" Who is Mr. Dacre? " asked Christian.

" An Englishman," said Betty.

" He has worked with my father for years,"
explained Rosamund. " They are always together."

" Rosamund may go hang for all her father cares as
long as he has his Englishman," said Betty. " It is an
infatuation. So my niece and I are driven into each
other's arms."

She yawned slightly as she spoke, and settled herself
amongst her cushions. She somehow conveyed the
impression that if she put her arms round her niece it
was not done with any great ardour.

" Of course, my brother-in-law has no idea that she
may be going to the ball to-night," she added; " we
don't tell him everything — do we, Rosamund? "

Christian looked what he felt, surprised and dis-
approving.

" But you will both be recognised," he said. " Pro-
bably the Professor will hear of it."

" Then he will storm at me," said Betty, " and next
time I shall do it again, if I'm so inclined. I never
did mind a little sound and fury."

"Do you like dancing?" said Christian, turning
suddenly to Rosamund and meeting the full gaze of
her lovely, fascinated eyes.

" How can she possibly know ? " said Betty; " she
has never been to a dance in her life."

" But we danced every Saturday at school," said
Rosamund.

The Professor's Legacy

The two older people laughed.

" Shall you be there to-night ? " said Betty.

" Yes, I shall be there. I am a Freemason."

" What have you done about shoes ? " she said
suddenly to her niece. " Have you bought yourself
white ones? "

" N — o," replied Rosamund; " you said the other
day that my new black ones . . ."

" Run! " cried Betty, clapping her hands together
impatiently — "run and find Bertha! Tell her to
give you all my white shoes. See if one pair will fit
you. What a muddle-headed child you are! Of
course, I meant the black shoes would do if you wore
a black gown."

Rosamund went unwillingly out of the room. She
would rather have stayed near Christian Witt. Betty
twinkled gleefully as her niece disappeared.

" A raw creature like that never sees when she is
in the way," she said. " My old shoes are put away
in the attic. It will take Bertha a quarter of an hour
to find them. Then they won't fit. Rosamund's
foot is longer than mine."

" What will she do for shoes, then ? "

" Wear her own. It doesn't matter what she
wears. No one knows her yet. I take her because
it is not amusing to go alone, and because any occasion
of the kind will help to rub off her corners."

" A child of her age ought only to appear at private
houses. Why don't you leave her at home? "

" Now? She would cry her eyes out."

"It is better that she should do that than make
her d6but at a Freemasons' Ball. Professor Elsler's
daughter has no business there."

" I don't agree with you. Where I appear she can. "

" You would be better at home, too."
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The Professor's Legacy

" Why do you go? "

" To amuse myself."

" How odd! That is why I go too. My husband
never would allow it. He wanted me to live in a glass
case. I dare say it keeps the dust off, but it is vastly
dull inside. I am so constructed that I would rather
be dusty than dull."

Christian Witt laughed as he got up to go.

" The glass case was never made that would hold
you," he said. " But you can take care of yourself
uncommonly well. Your niece is a child, and the
company to-night will be a rabble."

" But a respectable rabble," amended Betty.

" None of the shoes fit," said Rosamund, coming
back into the room with a look of dismay.

" I am trying to persuade your aunt to leave you
at home," said Christian Witt.

" I am not going to take his advice," said Betty,
" so you needn't stare at Herr Witt as if you wished
him to observe that your eyes were as big as tea-
saucers."

Christian gave a little grunt of disapproval again,
and Rosamund turned shamefacedly away.

" If the Professor had a grain of sense, he would
keep his girl out of this," he thought to himself; but
as he shook hands with Betty he only said, " Auf
Wiederseheri to-night, then."

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The Professor's Legacy

VI

" You will have to wear your <. wn shoes," said Betty,
when Christian Witt had gone; " there will be such
a crowd that no one will see your feet. Your father
only gave me two hundred marks for your clothes this
morning, and said it must last a long while. It
won't go far."

"What does he mean by a long while? " asked
Rosamund. " How much a year will he give me for
my clothes ? "

" He didn't say. Some men never will. They tell
their women-folk to get what they want, and then
make a to-do about every bill."

"How much do you spend on clothes, Aunt Betty ?"

" I haven't a notion," said Betty. " When Otto
was alive I took his advice and got what I wanted;
but, then, I never minded how much he fussed about
bills. I'm not easily ruffled. Now I have my
income in my own hands, and it has to buy clothes
first and everything else next, in a sensible way. I
suppose I spend a good deal. I'm more conspicuous
here than I should be in London or Paris, and it is very
pleasant to feel that, compared with me, all the other
women are frumps. But don't go about asking
other women that kind of intimate personal question.
They'll ask you where you were brought up."

" I think I'll go and dress now," said Rosamund,
when she had reflected on her aunt's advice; " then,
if there is anything wrong with that skirt, there will
be time to alter it."

But as she left the room she remembered that she
had forgotten to bring away her lace handkerchief,

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The Professor's Legacy

which had been a Christmas present and which she
greatly admired. She had the key of her flat, let
herself in, found the handkerchief, and would have
gone straight away again if she had not been called
by her father as she passed the door of his study.
She felt unwilling and impatient, but she was obliged
to go at his call.

" I thought you were spending the evening with
your aunt? " said the Professor.

" I am. I just came to fetch something I wanted."

" Shut the door and come here."

Rosamund grudged every moment, but she could
not venture to say so. Besides, as she approached her
father and saw his face in the lamplight, its unusual
pallor struck her, though she was still as ignorant and
nearly as unsympathetic as a child.

" Are you ill ? " she said timidly.

" Yes, I am ill."

" Shall I send for Dr. Weisse? "

" No, thank you," said the Professor. He was
looking at his daughter with new ideas and anxieties
in his mind. He felt full of concern for her future,
and of regret for the desolate position in which his
death would soon leave her. He saw that she was
unripe for it.

"I have just been writing to England to your
Uncle Charles," he said; " he is the only near relative
you have in the world."

" I have you and Aunt Betty," said Rosamund.

" You will not always have me. As for your Aunt
Betty . . ."

" We are devoted to each other."

" I don't approve of the intimacy. However, it
won't last."

" What will end it ? " cried Rosamund in alarm.
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The Professor's Legacy

" Betty herself. She is incapable of loyalty to a
vroman. When she gets tired of you she will break
with you."

The girl's face fell. Her father's words cast a
shadow on her spirit.

tf If that were to happen I should have no one,"
she said. " Of course I have you," she added politely,
" but I can't talk to you about clothes and things.
You are too busy."

" I wish you would make a friend of Mr. Dacre.
You will find that life is not all clothes. At least, I
hope you are not going to be one of the fool-women
who make it so. And he is a man to trust."

" I did like him when I was a child," said Rosa-
mund. " I liked him a little again this afternoon,
but only a little. Have you noticed that I never
wear the watch and chain he gave me? "

The Professor said he had not noticed it. He asked
if they were out of repair.

" They are as good as new," said Rosamund. " At
school we were not allowed to wear such things. But
Aunt Betty says it shows a want of delicacy to wear
a gift when you dislike the giver. She advised me
to return them. I thought of it this afternoon, but
I did not know how to begin. It is a difficult matter
to explain."

" I forbid you to do anything so stupid and un-
gracious," said the Professor. " When you were a
child you were wrapped up in Mr. Dacre. He has
not altered since."

" But I have," said Rosamund. " I am grown up
now, and my tastes are formed. Aunt Betty and I
find him unsympathetic."

" The people your aunt gathers round her are not
fit to black his boots," said the Professor.

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The Professor's Legacy

"But do you know them? Do you know Herr
Christian Witt, for instance? "

" He is the best of the lot. He sticks to his
work."

" He is the finest musician in Fichtenstadt," said
Rosamund, indignant at this faint praise. " You
should have read what the Tageblatt said about him
last week. It does not say such things of Mr. Dacre."

Professor Elsler looked at his child without anger
or surprise.

" You can't help being young and ignorant," he
said. " I suppose a girl fresh from school can't help
being silly. But don't go out of your way to be silly.
It is well for a young woman to hold her tongue
sometimes, rather than speak of matters she does not
understand."

" I know you think me a kitten compared with Mr.
Dacre," complained Rosamund; "I heard you say
so this afternoon."

" Don't forget it, then," said the Professor, with a
flash of mirth in his eyes. " Remember it whenever
you are with him, andpayhim the respect he deserves. "

Rosamund tried to look indignant, but in reality
her father's reply cleared the air. What he said
behind her back he said more forcibly to her face,
and she no longer nursed a sense of injury.

" I wish he would go back to England," she said.
" How much longer will he live here, and be with you
from morning till night? "

"Not much longer," said the Professor; and his
manner was so sad that, without knowing why,
Rosamund crept nearer to him.

" I wish you would let me have a keybasket and
keep house," she begged; " then I should be of more
use than a kitten. Luise is getting too old, and I am

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The Professor's Legacy

quite old enough. I was eighteen in January.
Beate Rassmann was married at my age."

" Would you like to be married? "

" I should like a white satin dress with a long train
and a house of my own. I might have a white satin
dress for a ball. Girls do now. I would much rather
keep house for you than for a strange man. But I do
want to keep house. Beate says it is heavenly fun to
have a store cupboard and a linen cupboard, and to
go to market. She gets up quite early, and buys her
own vegetables. Her friends let their cooks do it, but
she says none of them are as tuchtig as she is."

11 Is Beate happy? " aske^d the Professor, who
knew and did not like the man Beate had married.

" Yes," said Rosamund; " I don't think she cares
for her husband much, but she says you can't expect
to have everything, and her furniture is magnificent.
She is never tired of showing it to her friends. Dr.
Miiller is seldom at home except at meals, and then
he is always fault-finding. But Beate says she fixes
her attention on the carving of the sideboard, and
treats his observations as so much noise."

" I hope you won't marry a man who allows you
to treat his observations as so much noise," said the
Professor.

Rosamund was quite close to him now. In fact,
she had perched on a corner of his big chair, and he
had put an arm round her to keep her there.

" I don't think Dr. Miiller likes it," she admitted;
" he threw a plate at Beate last week."

"Did Beate tell you so?"

"No. She told Aunt Betty as a secret, and Aunt
Betty told me."

" You had better remember that the first time you
want to tell your aunt a secret," said the Professor.

The Professor's Legacy

" I have never given you her message," said Rosa-
mund. " She thanks you from her heart for the
flowers. I chose roses and lilies of the valley. At
least, Herr Witt, who was in the shop at the same
time, chose them for me."

" Do you often see Herr Witt? "

" Nearly every day. But sometimes it is only
from the opposite side of the road. To-night we
met on the stairs, and went to the flower-shop
together. Do you think I might tell you a secret,
father?"

" I think you might," said the Professor.

" Beate confided in me that she likes Herr Witt a
thousand times better than her husband. She asked
me if I thought it was wicked."

"What did you say?"

" I said I thought it would be more honourable if
she waited till her husband was dead, as Aunt Betty
has done."

The Professor sat up.

" My good girl . . ."he began.

" Beate said I was a wicked girl to allude to her
husband's death," said Rosamund; "she has not
spoken to me since."

" So much the better," said the Professor; " I wish
these women had no tongues. They seern to use
them for nothing but folly and mischief. If your
mother had lived you would not have heard such
rubbish talked, and you would have learned never to
betray a confidence even to your father. I thought
it was a secret of your own you meant to tell."

Rosamund hung her head, and wished she had
not chattered so heedlessly. Her father's eyes were
fixed on a portrait of his wife opposite him.

" If she had lived . . ."he said again.
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The Professor's Legacy

" Was that her wedding-gown? " said Rosamund,
who had always seen the portrait there and taken it
for granted. " Did she wear her hair like that ? and
those pearls round her throat ? "

"Go to that cupboard," said the Professor, point-
ing to the one he meant. " Bring me a leather box
that you will see on the top shelf."

Rosamund found the box, which was a heavy one,
and held it for her father while he opened it with a
small key. To her surprise, she found that it con-
tained trinkets, and as she looked longer, she re-
membered having seen her mother wear some of them.

" These things belonged to your mother and to my
mother," said the Professor. " When you are a little
older they shall belong to you. But I am going to
give you this pearl necklace now. Your mother
wore it on her wedding-day, and my mother wore it
to her first ball."

Rosamund felt a little bit guilty as she took the
necklace, and thanked her father without telling him
that she would wear it this very night at her first ball.
She would rather have told him. At the same time,
she did not want to offend her aunt or imperil her
chance of dancing with Christian Witt. Her father
led the life of a recluse, and would probably never
hear of her going to the ball. She did not expect him
to be angry if he did hear. Ten days ago he had dis-
covered by accident that her aunt had taken her to
Beate Muller's Kaffee-Klatsch, and he had made no
objection. Her aunt arranged pleasures for her, and
her father acquiesced in them when they were over.
But he had given her pleasure for once, and she kissed
him affectionately as she bade him good-night.

When she got back to her aunt's flat she went
straight to the spare room and dressed herself in the

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The Professor's Legacy

white voile gown that she had lengthened a little in
front. It had lined sleeves, and was high in the neck.
In fact, it looked what it was— a summer gown rather
the worse for wear, and made some time ago for an
older woman than Rosamund. It hung loosely on the
girl's undeveloped figure, but it had a train, and she
had never worn one before. When she had fastened
the pearls round her throat she felt as ready for the
ballroom as a young soldier for the battlefield. She
took up her gloves and cloak, and ran into Betty's
room to show herself.

"Look what father has given me!" she cried,
going up to the toilet-table.

For a moment Betty had a disturbing glimpse of the
girl's fresh face in close proximity to her own faded
one.

" Does Christian always see us together like this ? "
she thought to herself, and she turned hastily from the
glass.

" Very pretty," she said, speaking of the pearls and
appraising her niece's turn-out, which, from her
point of view, was not successful. " But you have
not made anything of your hair. Sit down and let
me run the tongs through it once or twice."

Rosamund had no opinion of her own in such
matters yet. She sat down without a protest, and
let her aunt crimp her front hair. The effect when
Betty had finished was grotesque. The frizz left
here and there by the hot irons did not suit the girl's
heavy, unfashionable plaits, and her face fell as she
saw her own reflection. Betty felt vexed herself,
for she was not anxious to appear in public with a
niece who did her so little credit. But there was
nothing to be done.

" We shall be late as it is," she said. " You were
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such a time dressing, and it would take an hour to
brush out all that frizz and do your hair properly.
Come along ! No one knows you yet, but every one
in Fichtenstadt knows that gown. It is your father's
fault. He ought to buy you proper clothes, and let
you have a hair-dresser when you go out. Fra^ois
has done my hair perfectly, hasn't he ? "

He certainly had; but Rosamund did not find the
sight of Betty's waves and coils as consoling as, of
course, she should have done. Her spirits were at a
low ebb, and she followed her aunt silently down-
stairs. The maid should have returned long since
with the cab, but it was not in sight yet, and as the
ladies waited at the street door they saw Dacre coming
towards them.

" Don't let him see us," said Betty, and she drew
Rosamund with her behind the door.

He would probably have passed without observing
them if the cab, with Betty's maid inside, had not
come up just then. The girl jumped out, peered
about for her mistress, found her, and entered into
a long rigmarole about the scarcity of cabs to-night,
when every one was going to the Freemasons' Ball.
Dacre stopped, raised his hat, and helped the ladies
into the cab.

" What address ? " he asked.

Betty told him.

" You had better come too," she added. " I will
dance with you, and so will Rosamund."

" I have no ticket," said Dacre.

" You can buy one for four marks at any of the
libraries. By the way, don't tell my brother-in-law
where we are. He would probably send Luise to
bring Rosamund straight home."

" Would he ? " said Dacre.
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" He is capable of it."

" Well," said Dacre, " from what I have heard of
the Freemasons' Ball, I think he would be right."

"Au revoir! " said Betty. "By the time you
come we may have had enough of it. If we have,
you shall take us home — otherwise not."

Dacre lifted his hat again, and watched the cab
drive away.

" He will tell your father," said Betty.

" I am quite sure he will not," said Rosamund.

VII

DR. OTTO ELSLER had been a mason, and had always
taken tickets for the annual ball given by the Free-
masons of Fichtenstadt. That he refused to let his
wife dance there had been one of Betty's little
grievances in her husband's lifetime, and now that
he was dead she made a point of going, as she told
every one, in honour of his memory. She knew
perfectly well that she ought not to take Rosamund
with her, and that neither her husband nor the
Professor would have allowed it. To let a girl of
Rosamund's standing make her debut there was not
exactly a scandal, but it was a blunder — the kind of
blunder Betty would sometimes commit with her
eyes open, because it suited her at the moment.

Directly they tried to push their way through the
ballroom, Rosamund, with all her ignorance of the
world, began to suspect that she was in the wrong
galley. She found herself shouldered by people whose
like she had never expected to meet on terms of
equality — people with rougher manners and louder

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colours than she was used to see in her own surround-
ings. The men who were dancing looked hot; the
girls were either arch or stolid; the matrons wore
crumpled satin dresses, as blue and red and yellow
as Christmas candles. Betty elbowed herself for-
ward, and soon came across people she knew. At
first she turned her head now and then to make sure
that Rosamund was following her, but they got
separated more than once by the crowd. When the
music stopped the press became greater than ever,
and the girl having lost sight of her aunt, looked
round for some place of refuge. But there was not
a vacant seat anywhere. Some people jostled her,
many stared at her, and she began to wish that she
had stayed at home. Then, as you may see the
moon emerge from a cloud and light the sky, she
suddenly saw the imposing figure of Christian Witt.
He was still a long way off, and he did not see her
yet, but he was coming her way. Rosamund watched
his progress with a beating heart, for there were
sirens on all sides, and they made bold to stop him.
But he came straight on with his air of energetic
purpose, and for a blissful moment she hoped he
might be seeking her. She actually took a few
steps to meet him, and then she saw that a stout old
lady in black had succeeded where the younger ones
had failed. She detained him in conversation for a
few minutes. Then he broke away, and found himself
close to Rosamund. She looked up at him smiling
and anxious, and perceived, to her profound dismay,
that his face expressed disapproval.

" Where is your aunt? " he said.

" I have no idea," said Rosamund.

He frowned, and went back to the old lady in
black. Rosamund followed timidly, supposing that

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he meant to present her. Unfortunately, she over-
heard what was said.

" That is Professor Elsler's daughter standing about
by herself," said Christian. " Some one ought to
look after her."

" Who brought her? " said the old lady.

" Betty Elsler; but she has gone off on her own
devices."

"I am not acquainted with any of the Elslers.
But I recognise the Frau Doctor's last year's frock
on the girl, and her hair looks as if she had tumbled
into a thorn-bush on her way here. I should have
thought the Professor might give his child clothes of
her own, and I should have thought he was too high
and mighty to let her stand about like a waif at the
Freemasons' Ball."

Rosamund was just as anxious now to get away
from Christian Witt as she had been a moment before
to come across him. She turned hurriedly and took
little heed where she was going. The band had just
struck up again; young men were rushing here and
there for their partners : the eager ones had begun to
dance already. Rosamund was nearly thrown down
by one of these couples, and only saved herself by
clutching at the nearest coat-sleeve. The young
man who wore it helped to steady her, put his heels
together with a click, made her a bow that suggested
he moved on badly-oiled hinges, and said in a high
treble voice:

" My name is Aloysius Bremen, student of medi-
cine. May I have the honour of dancing with you ? "

The next moment Rosamund was half-way across
the room with him, and had begun to enjoy herself.
She knew that in a private house young men often
introduced themselves in this way by the mere

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mention of their name, and the marked difference
between an occasion of that kind and this one was
not apparent to her. She danced well and lightly,
and the young man's friends, perceiving this, came
up and asked her for " extra tours," a German
device by which a girl may have half a dozen partners
for one dance. While she is on with the new man
the old one need not stand deserted. He asks some
one else for an " extra tour," but he must watch for
the moment when his own partner is ready to return
to him. It sounds a confusing plan, but Germans
always assure you it is not. Rosamund thought it
most agreeable, and without dreaming that she was
an object of general attention she danced time after
time with six or seven young men, who treated
her with great politeness, but who happened to be
notorious in the University for their rowdy escapades.
Every one in the room knew them, and a few people
knew that the pretty girl romping round with them
was Professor Elsler's daughter. When they heard
that Betty Elsler had brought her, they shrugged
their shoulders and said it was Betty's business to
look after her niece, so no one interfered.

As time went on Rosamund began to wish that
she could get away from her admirers. She was not
naturally a tomboy, but she knew that she looked
like one this evening, and the idea distressed her.
Some of her young men danced with more zeal than
grace.

One of them had managed to tread on her skirt
and tear it badly, and all of them seemed to reckon
dancing a form of violent exercise. Never since she
was a child had her cheeks felt so hot or her hair so
dishevelled. She knew instinctively that at a public
entertainment this was not decorous. But she could

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not see Betty: her friends were persistent and
amiable; and several times she had the deep satis-
faction of flying past Christian Witt and ignoring
him. He had not asked her to dance, and it pleased
her to let him see that she did not want for partners.

But Christian heard what people were saying about
the girl, and he grew angry. He looked everywhere
for Betty, but he could not find her. He was so
angry that when a dance came for which they were
engaged he took no further trouble, but went instead
in search of her niece, who was standing with several of
her recent partners near one of the few open windows.
She saw him coming, and looked the other way. But
that did not deter him. He marched up to the little
group, and requested her in a peremptory voice to
give him the next dance.

"I am very sorry," said Rosamund; "I am
engaged."

" Gnadiges Fraulein is engaged for the rest of the
evening to us," said a young man with several scars
on his face. He was a " corps " student and an
ardent duellist. He would have been delighted to go
out with a man as well known as Christian Witt, and
leave his sword-mark on the musician's admired
features. But Christian Witt had no idea of obliging
him. He had made his attempt to extricate Rosa-
mund from an unsuitable situation, and she had
not responded. The conduct of Professor Elsler's
daughter was, after all, no concern of his, and, with
a bow that included the girl and her new acquaintances
in its contemptuous acquiescence, he turned his back
on the little group and walked away. The boys, for
they were nothing more, did their best to hearten
and encourage Rosamund, whose face fell as the older
man departed. She was soon laughing again, and

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when the young men proposed to take her into supper
she accepted their invitation. She was not easy in
her mind by this time. She looked enviously at other
girls of her age under some older person's wing, and,
in spite of her success, she felt the loneliest young
woman in the room. Her knights, who had begun
the game in a moment of high spirits, soon recognised
that they were playing it with a child, and were care-
ful in nowise to alarm her. But they trooped into
the supper-room making a good deal of noise, chose
a centre table, and placed Rosamund at one end of it.
As she sat down she knew for certain that she ought
never to have come. She saw disapproval on many
faces near her, and she fixed her eyes on the cloth and
wished she could get away. She was more con-
spicuous here than in the crowded ballroom, and
more ashamed. She half rose from her seat, but she
feared the vociferous protests of her companions.
Perhaps if she stayed and conducted herself irre-
proachably she might show a censorious world that
she was equal to any situation. She unfolded her
napkin, lifted her eyes, and, with a grown-up air,
gave her attention to the menu.

But undignified companions may make your
dignity ineffective. Rosamund's escort did not
imitate her decorum. They laughed, they gave a
multitude of orders, they all recommended different
dishes to Rosamund, they attracted birds of their
feather to their table, and were soon a larger party.
The new-comers were naturally curious about Rosa-
mund, and in whispers asked who she was; but no
one seemed to know. They were polite, but did not
disguise their amusement at finding her the guest of
their friends. Towards the end of supper they grew
more uproarious, and when some one proposed to

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drink Rosamund's health in champagne, the idea
was received with acclamations.

"Oh, don't let them!" said Rosamund to the
duellist' who sat next to her. " I ought to go back
to my aunt now. Can't you help me to find her? "

But the order had gone forth, and Rosamund had
to content herself with her neighbour's assurance that
the ceremony would not last half a moment, and that,
when it was over, he would take her straight back to
the ballroom.

" Who is your aunt ? " he asked.

" Frau Dr. Elsler," said Rosamund.

The young man jumped.

" Not Professor Elsler 's sister-in-law? "

" Yes. I am Professor Elsler's daughter."

It seemed to Rosamund that the young man in-
voked his gods in a language she did not understand.

" Here is the champagne," he said. " If I took you
away now there would be more fuss than the moment
gained is worth. Besides, I should have to explain
. . . and it is better not to explain. Surely your
honoured father does not know you are here? "

"No," said Rosamund; "Aunt Betty thought it
better not to tell him."

By this time the champagne had been poured out.
Twenty young men were crowding round the table,
and at the given word they all stood up and shouted
" Hoch! " and tried to clink glasses with Rosamund.
She did her best to oblige them, and, as they hid her
from the rest of the room, the ordeal was less painful
than it might have been. But it was painful enough.
So many faces were pressing round her, so many
hands were stretched towards her. She would have
liked to break away and run home. She had turned
rather white and was nearer tears than any one knew

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when she suddenly set down her glass, and looked as
if she wanted the earth to open and swallow her.
Behind the shoulders of the students she saw Dacre,
and the displeasure in his face convicted her. She
did not know whether to be glad or sorry that he had
come. She knew he had come for her, and that he
would take her with him even in the face of opposi-
tion. -She did not look up as he made his way to her
end of the table. She waited silently and breathlessly
for him to speak.

" I will take this lady back to her friends, gentle-
men," he said, and he seemed to address the
duellist, whose face and reputation were known to
him.

Some of the young men were still clinking glasses
with each other, but those near Rosamund had heard
Dacre 's curt announcement, and were listening tensely
for their comrade's reply. He was a leader amongst
them, and not one to accept rebuke from a stranger.
They were rather surprised to see him make Dacre a
profound bow, and to hear him say something civil
about their regret at parting with the lady to her
friends.

" Until this moment I had no idea who she was," he
continued in an undertone and in English. " I should
have taken her back to her aunt long since."

" The young lady only left school six weeks ago,"
said Dacre. " When you remember this evening, I
beg you to remember that."

The two men then bowed to each other again, and
Dacre walked off with Rosamund, who had listened
with downcast eyes and understood every word. It
was an uncomfortable progress through the crowded,
gaping room.

" Do you know who she was? " said Rosamund's

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first partner, Aloysius Bremen, when she had dis-

" Never mind who she was," said the duellist. " If
any one knows, I forbid him to say."

" The Englishman is known to every one in Fich-
tenstadt," said another. " He assists Professor
Elsler. The girl was Fraulein Elsler, of course. I
remember her now. I have seen her go in and out
of her father's house."

So next day there was a duel with swords, and the
student who had cried out Rosamund's name received
a cut across the chin that kept him indoors for a week.
But though ah1 the young men who had drunk Rosa-
mund's health knew her in future and often met her
about the town, not one of them ever presumed on
the acquaintance so irregularly formed The duellist
explained that she would not desire it, and Rosa-
mund's staid behaviour when she encountered them
suggested that he was right.

VIII

As they passed through the ballroom, which was still
crowded, Rosamund began to wish Dacre would
speak to her. She knew pretty well what he had to
say, and that it would not be agreeable to hear. But
an unspoken judgment is sometimes worse to bear than
a spoken one. It leaves so much to the imagination.
Rosamund wondered what he thought of her appear-
ance. She had never seen him in evening dress
before, and though she knew nothing of men's clothes,
she was much impressed by his. Every other man
in the room wore the same costume, but no other

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man wore it with the same air of distinction. Amongst
all those heated, crumpled people he looked cool and
quiet and dignified.

"Am I very untidy?" she whispered when she
could bear his silence no longer.

" You are rather," he said, " but you will soon be
at home."

" I think we had better find my aunt, and she will
take me to a dressing-room. I have been dancing
all the evening, you see."

" I am sorry I could not get here sooner," said
Dacre.

" Why did you come at all ? Have you been
dancing with Aunt Betty ? "

" I have not seen your aunt."

" Did my father know you were coming? "

"No."

" Did you tell him I was here ? "

"No."

Rosamund turned these answers over in her mind,
and then spoke again.

" Aunt Betty said you would tell him," she said.
" I felt sure you would not."

" You were right," said Dacre.

" You guessed we should tell him to-morrow? "

Dacre said nothing then, and his silence fretted
Rosamund again. She looked at his profile, and felt
a little in awe of it. She thought if she could see him
full face she would find it easier to make friends. His
eyes were always kinder than his features.

" Are you angry? " she said, like a child.

" Not so much with you as with whoever brought
you here, and then left you to get into mischief."

" I suppose you mean Aunt Betty? "

" I suppose I do. She brought you here surrep-
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titiously, it seems. She ought to have looked after
you. The moment I arrived a man told me you
had been romping round the room with three or four
students, and were now at supper with them."

" We didn't romp — we danced! " cried Rosamund.
" How unkind people are! No one else spoke to me
or asked me to dance. Ought I to have sat down in
a corner and looked on at all the fun ? "

" I believe that is what well-behaved young ladies
do when they know no one," said Dacre, trying not to
laugh. " Anyhow, I am sure a young lady ought not
to go in to supper with a crowd of strange young men.
A well-behaved one would rather starve."

" Suppose it had been your sister ..." began
Rosamund.

" I cannot suppose it," said Dacre.
" Has she never done anything as bad ? "
" Never. But, then, she has not had your oppor-
tunities."

While Rosamund was considering this reply her
eyes travelled across the room, and suddenly lighted
on Betty.

"There is my aunt with Herr Witt," she said.
"Do you know him?"

" I was introduced to him this evening," said
Dacre; but he did not say that it was Christian Witt
who had told him where Rosamund was to be found,
and expressed his relief when the Englishman said
he had come on purpose to fetch her away.

" What a little scaramouch she looks! " Betty said
meanwhile, as she watched her niece approach her;
" she has torn my gown to ribbons. I wish I had
never brought her."

" Why didn't you look after her? " said Christian.
Why didn't she find a seat and keep quiet ? If I
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take a girl out for a little fun, I don't expect to nurse
her all the evening."

- " She certainly looks as if she had had a little fun,"
said the musician.

" Where have you been ? " said Betty, as Rosamund
came up. " How have you managed to tear your
gown like that? Good - evening, Mr. Dacre. My
niece cannot dance with you till she has made herself
tidy."

11 1 am not going to ask her to dance with me here,"
said Dacre; " I look forward to a better opportunity."

Betty was quite quick enough to understand him.

" You would rather take her home ? " she said.

" Much rather, if she will consent to come with
me."

" Rosamund, you've been naughty," said Betty to
her niece; "go home at once with Mr. Dacre, and
promise him you'll behave better another time."

" Can't I wait for you, Aunt Betty? " said Rosa-
mund, made angry and unwilling to go by her aunt's
mocking tone. But Betty did not hear. She turned
away as she spoke, and the crowd had carried her on
already.

" Shall we go now? " said Dacre.

" Why are you in such a hurry? "
. " I shall be glad to get you out of this. It's not
quite good enough."

" I wonder why you came," said Rosamund, con-
verted to his point of view by his tranquil manner,
and also by her appreciation of the contrast between
him and the other men there.

" I came to see what you were doing, and, if pos-
sible, to bring you away," said Dacre.

" Did you do it to please my father? "

" No," said Dacre; " I did it to please myself."
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" I am afraid you have not got much pleasure out
of it," said Rosamund.

While she fetched her cloak from the dressing-room,
Dacre got a cab, and put her into it directly she
rejoined him.

" I want to tell you about my father," she said,
while they were in a quiet street. " I was with him
this evening, and he gave me a pearl necklace my
mother wore on her wedding-day. He was very
kind, and I asked him why he called me a kitten."

"Did he tell you?"

" He said that compared with you I was one, and
that I had better remember it."

" Oh, he didn't mean that," said Dacre. " Kitten
is a term of endearment."

Rosamund shook her head.

" It means that I am only a girl," she said.

" I hate that phrase," said Dacre.

" But there it is. I can't be a son to my father
and help him with his work."

" I can't make a home for him. He needs us both."

" He wants us to be friends."

" I want it too," said Dacre, and then the cab
stopped.

" But Aunt Betty has the key of the street door! "
cried Rosamund. " How are we to get in ? "

" I have both keys," said Dacre. " I got them
from Luise when I left."

" My father is not in bed yet," said Rosamund,
looking up in surprise. " There is a light in his
study. He never sits up as late as this. Can any one
have told him about me? Did you tell Luise?
What reason did you give for wanting the keys ? "

"I gave no reason," said Dacre; "I asked for
them. How were you going to get in ? "

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" I have a second key. It is at Aunt Betty's,"
said Rosamund.

As Dacre followed the girl upstairs he felt puzzled
and uneasy, for it was now past midnight, and more
than two hours ago the Professor had said he was
tired and would go to bed. He tried to think of
some reason for going into the flat before Rosamund
to see if anything was wrong, and when they arrived
at the door he waited and said nothing. Luckily, she
did not notice his hesitation, because she was hunting
for the key of her aunt's flat, hidden under a mat.

" Good-night," she said, looking up again. " I have
to go in here first and fetch my things."

" Good-night," said Dacre, wishing she would not
linger. But she did.

" Thank you for bringing me home," she said.

" Oh! " said Dacre, inarticulate and pleased.

Then she disappeared, and Dacre opened the
adjoining door and went in.

Rosamund went straight to her aunt's spare room,
and looked at herself in the glass by the light of her
candle. Her hair was a sight! The heavy plaits
had been loosened by her boisterous dancing, and
the frizzed front hair stood out round her face and
reminded her of shock-headed Peter. Her skirt was
torn from the gathers, her flowers were crushed and
limp, her gloves had split near the thumbs. The
sad and truthful tale told by the mirror nearly
reduced her to tears. She wondered at Dacre 's
courage in walking through the room beside such a
figure; she wondered what Christian had thought of
her. The idea that her father should see her so was
intolerable. Of course, she did not mean to go into
his study unless he called her, but there was the risk
that he would, and then she would have to explain

The Professor's Legacy

where she had been. She hastily smoothed her hair,
and put on her black silk gown. Then she took up
her candle and an embroidered bag that held her
things and went softly out of the flat. As she shut
the door, Luise appeared, and when she saw Rosa-
mund she tried to hurry past her down the stairs.

"What is it, Luise?" called Rosamund, alarmed
by her manner and her face.

"Don't hinder me, child," said the old servant;
" I am going for the doctor. Your father is ill."

Rosamund flew to the door of the flat, and found
that Luise had shut it. As she was fumbling in her
bag for her own key, the door was opened from inside,
and Dacre stood on the threshold.

"You!" she cried, with evident relief. " He is
not alone, then. Is he very ill ? "
" Come in," said Dacre.

" Why did you come ? " whispered Rosamund.
" Did you think he was ill ? "
" I feared it."

" I didn't. I should have gone straight to bed.
Why don't you let me pass? Where is he? Why
do you bring me here? "

Dacre had led the girl into the dining-room, where
there was no light except the one made by her candle,
which he took from her and set down. She was
trembling violently.

" I will wait here with you ... till your aunt
comes," he said.

" Doesn't he want us, then? "
" No," said Dacre.

His eyes had really told her from the beginning.
She knew it now. At first she neither spoke nor
moved. The shock was so great that she felt numb
under it. Then, because she was still trembling,

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she sat down. Dacre watched her anxiously. He
thought she was going to faint, and he wished she
would cry instead of sitting there dumb and stricken.

" He must have died soon after I left him," he said.
" There seems to have been no pain."

" How do you know? "

" At first I thought he was asleep."

" I was dancing," she said — " I was dancing when
he was dying. I didn't even know for certain that
he was ill."

" He knew very little about it himself till this
morning," said Dacre, trying as best he could to
comfort her. " Then he was told that it might
happen at any moment, or that he might live for
weeks."

" Then he knew it when I was with him ; he knew
it this afternoon when he was talking to you."

" Yes," said Dacre • " he came from the Geheimrath
with his death sentence, and the only care or thought
he had was for you. He was one of the greatest men
of our time, and one of the best. And we have lost
him, Rosamund."

" I suppose you are sure," said the girl, looking
up suddenly; "you are not a doctor. Can nothing
be done?"

She had risen to her feet.

" I am quite sure," said Dacre.

" I want to see him," she said. " But I am
afraid."

Dacre took her by the hand and led her into the
study. As he opened the door she clung to his arm,
and they stood together on the threshold. The
Professor had died quite peacefully in his chair.
There was no sign of struggle or suffering on his
finely-cut face.

The Professor's Legacy

" I have often seen him so," whispered the girl;
" perhaps he is only asleep."

But when she had stolen up to him and touched
his hands and his lips she knew that he had left her.

IX

IT was impossible to think of Betty in connection with
the tragedies of life. Dacre could not imagine her
mourning, or having much patience with her fellow-
creatures in affliction. He waited with Rosamund
until they heard her aunt arrive home, and then he
went out on to the landing to tell Frau Elsler what
had happened. When she saw Dacre she naturally
showed surprise, and when she heard his news she
looked upset and startled. She asked if a doctor
had been sent for, and was told that he had come
and gone.

"I'm glad I wasn't here," she said, with a shudder.
"That stupid old Luise would have sent for me, and
I should have done no good. It's very sad, certainly.
Rosamund has no one but me now."

" She has an uncle in England," said Dacre.

" I have one in Java, but he isn't much use to me.
Where is Rosamund? Can you send her to me?
I don't want to go in there to-night. I suppose she
is dreadfully upset. Is she crying? I never know
what to say to people when they are crying. She
won't really miss her father much, you know, when
the first shock is over. She has never seen anything
of him. But I can hardly expect her to take a
reasonable view to-night, can I ? "

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" Pm afraid not," said Dacre. " She seems to
think she will miss him a good deal."

" That shows what a sweet disposition she has,
I'm sure. Where did you say she was ? "

" In the dining-room. Shall I tell her you will see
her to-morrow morning? "

"What a heartless idea! Forgive me for saying
so, but it could only emanate from an Englishman.
Of course, I must hold the poor child in my arms to-
night, and our tears must flow together. Please ask
her to come over to me at once, Mr. Dacre."

" Very well," said Dacre. " Good-night, Frau
Elsler. I shall see you and Rosamund to-morrow
morning."

" We shall want a man to help us," said Betty.
" Of course, there is Christian Witt, but he is always
so busy ; not a man of leisure like you and my poor
brother-in-law. I suppose I shall have the care of my
niece till she is of age or marries. I hope there will
be a little money for her. My husband always said
that his brother was a poor man, but I never believed
it. He contributed more than any one else in the
town to a new laboratory some years ago."

Dacre did not feel inclined to explain the Pro-
fessor's business affairs at that hour of the night, so
he got away as soon as he could and went back to
Rosamund.

" Your aunt would like to see you," he said.

"Have you told her? "

" Yes."

The girl got up, as it seemed to Dacre, with some
reluctance.

" She never cared for my father," she said.

" But she is sorry for you," said Dacre.

They went together to the door of Betty's flat, and
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Rosamund went in. She found Betty waiting for her
in the sitting-room, and when she saw her aunt she
began to cry again. Betty looked at her niece in
dismay, and then led her to the sofa.

"Don't cry," she said; "you'll only make your-
self ill. It is a great loss, of course. But these things
will happen. Life brings them to us, and we must
bear them. Your father was a great man, and had a
most successful career The whole country will mourn
him. Perhaps the town will wish him to have a
public funeral. There will be a great deal for us to
decide and arrange. I think we ought to go to bed at
once; it is past one o'clock. If you had only just
heard the sad news I would not suggest it. But you
have been at home an hour, and now you ought to
forget your sorrow in sleep. I dare say Luise is up
still. Tell her to make you some Gluhwein. That
is sure to send you off. She might bring me a glass
too. I'm quite cold and wide awake."

Rosamund raised her head and tried to stop crying,
but she did not succeed at once. Meanwhile her
aunt's thoughts ran on the immediate and interesting
question of her black clothes ; and her eye, following
her thoughts, was caught by Rosamund's black gown.

" Why have you changed at this time of night? "
she asked.

" When we got to the house we saw a light in my
father's study, and we thought he was up still," said
Rosamund. " I came in here first and made myself
tidy."

" What happened then?"

" Mr. Dacre met me and told me. The light had
alarmed him, and he went in to see."

Betty reflected that things had happened for the
best, but that it would not show fine feeling to say so.

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She was glad it had not fallen to her to arrive home
with Rosamund, and see the light in her brother-in-
law's study, and find that he was so suddenly and
unexpectedly dead.

" I had no idea that your father was ill," she said.
" He was quite himself this morning; " and again she
did not utter her thought, which was that he had been
as disagreeable as usual.

" I knew he was ill," said Rosamund; "at least, I
ought to have known it. Mr. Dacre had warned me.
But I didn't know that illness meant . . . this."

She could not say more without beginning to cry
again, and her instinct told her that her aunt disliked
the sight and sound of tears. She got up and said
she would go to bed now. She knew that Luise would
be up and sorrowing, and that the old woman would
be longing for her.

" Good-night," she said to her aunt; " I will send
you in the wine."

" I suppose Luise will look after you," said Betty.
" To-morrow you had better come over here. I will
have the spare room got ready."

Rosamund found, as she expected, that Luise was
waiting up for her, and that she was more in need of
care and comfort than any one else. The poor old
woman was trembling with cold and misery, and was
kneeling in front of the stove in Rosamund's room,
trying to light a fire for her. It did Rosamund good
to think of her servant instead of herself, and after
carrying the hot wine to her aunt, she came back and
arranged with Luise that for to-night they would
sleep in the same room. The next morning her
aunt sent in about ten o'clock to ask her to come
over there.

" I have sent for Christian Witt and the dress-
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maker," she said directly she saw Rosamund.
" When things happen you always need a man and
a milliner. How have you slept? I hope that old
Luise wasn't a bore. People of her class express their
affliction so unpleasantly. I wonder what is to
become of her. She has not been worth her wage
for a long time; but of course it is our duty to
remember that she was a faithful servant. Your
father may have left her something."

Rosamund looked as if she had not slept well.
Her eyes were dazed and heavy and her movements
languid. She felt as if life would go on henceforward
without hope or brightness, and that nothing mattered
much in a world her father had left empty.

"Have you heard from Herr Witt?" she said.
Even he seemed a long way off now.

"There he is," said Betty as the door-bell rang;
and she gave a touch to the sleeves of her heliotrope
negligee. But it was the dressmaker who entered
the room.

She stayed two hours, and then Betty looked at the
clock. Her own wardrobe had been overhauled, her
new gowns had been ordered, and she was feeling
tired.

" I must go and dress," she said. " What about
your things, Rosamund? You had better have a
serge for every day and a fine cloth for best. That
will do to begin with."

" But how shall I have them made ? Like yours ? "
said Rosamund, who had waited patiently while her
aunt discussed fashions and trimmings, thinking
every moment that her turn must come next.

"Like mine! Of course not. What suits me
would look absurd on you. I was convinced of that
last night when I saw you in my gown. By the way,

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I wish you'd fetch it. Fraulein Schwarz might see
how it could be mended."

The dressmaker interposed here, said that she had
an appointment at her own house in a few minutes,
and that she would like to be told before she left how
the young lady's gowns were to be made. The table
was littered with fashion-papers, and Rosamund
began to look helplessly through them. She knew
nothing about clothes. Betty, with an air of im-
patience and fatigue, threw herself into an easy-
chair.

" Make my niece two plain black frocks such as
you make for young ladies of her age," she said.
" Give her a silk collar with the cloth, and put a few
rows of stitching on the serge. There is nothing to
choose about a black frock. Anything plain will do.
You can see for yourself that Fraulein is not difficult
to please."

The dressmaker could not help smiling, for Rosa-
mund wore her shepherd's plaid frock this morning;
but she felt sorry for the pretty, sorrowful-looking
girl, and she did not love Betty. No one who served
or worked for her did.

" I will send the young lady something better than
that," she said.

" I am sure I hope she will," said Rosamund when
the woman had gone.

" If you take no interest in your clothes, you can't
expect them to be a success," said Betty. " Why
didn't you tell her how you wanted them made? "

" Because I have no ideas. At school we wore this
shepherd's plaid every week-day and the maroon
merino on Sundays. We didn't seem to know there
were other clothes in the world."

" I always told your father he was doing the worst
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thing he could for you. A woman isn't a bird; she
doesn't grow feathers. If you live amongst people
who dress badly you are pretty sure to dress badly
yourself. That is why I go to Paris so often. You
can get ideas there that will last you a few months.
Christian Witt says that I am the best-dressed woman
in Fichtenstadt, and I must say that when I see the
others I agree with him."

" I don't want to be a fashion-doll," said Rosa-
mund, remembering what her father had said about
fool-women and clothes.

" You would show more sense if you said you
didn't want to be a scarecrow," said Betty. " That's
your danger at present. Really, I can't see what a
school like the Dorotheenstift does teach a girl . . .
that she ever wants. You can't dress, you can't do
your hair, and you can't behave. Christian Witt says
you were tearing round the room with some strange
students last night. He was horrified. He plays
about a good deal himself, I fancy, so of course his
ideas of propriety are very strict. If your father had
not died you would be the talk of the town to-day,
and I should have to go round explaining that you
were just out of the nursery and didn't know better.
As it is, you won't go to another dance for a year,
and by that time people will have some one else to
pull to pieces. I wish I knew more about your
father's affairs. I suppose you will have to live with
me. I am only waiting for Christian Witt to come
and advise us what steps to take. Mr. Dacre
promised to come this morning, but no doubt he has
forgotten all about us. I think I'll go and dress now."

Rosamund felt thankful when her aunt did go and
dress. She longed to be alone. But Betty soon
came back again, brisk and busy, her hands full of

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letters and telegrams that had just arrived. She
looked through the first few hastily and passed them
to Rosamund, then pounced on one from Christian
Witt.

" He cannot come," she said, reading aloud from it.
" He has to conduct at Bertholdsruhe this afternoon.
Of course, his time is not his own. But he says our
news has filled him with grief, that his thoughts will
follow us night and day, and that he weeps over the
loss to the world of so great a man. I expect that
blot on his signature was made by a tear. Yet he
hardly knew your father. How different from Mr.
Dacre! He told me what had happened, and never
even said he was sorry. As for a tear, I don't suppose
he could shed one if he tried. I am glad he has not
come. His indifferent manner would jar on me."

Rosamund took Christian Witt's letter from her
aunt and read it and re-read it. She found no fault
with the handwriting, which was like fireworks, nor
with the phrases of condolence, which were artificial.
The fact that it came from him singled it out from
all other letters arriving that day. As she looked at
the open page she absently tore the envelope into
small pieces and threw it into a waste-paper basket.
When Betty had looked through her correspondence
and torn up some of it, she turned to her niece and
took back Christian Witt's letter.

" Where is the envelope ? "she said.

Rosamund looked blankly at her empty hands
and then on the table.

" I must have torn it up. I believe I did," she said.

Betty almost shrieked.

" We must find the pieces," she said. " I have
never thrown away so much as a postcard or a
telegram from him. Sometimes he sends me messages

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in a hurry on scraps of parcel paper. I have them

all."

The two ladies knelt down, overturned the contents
of the waste-paper basket, and began their search.
It was a tedious business, for the basket had been full,
and Rosamund had unluckily torn the envelope into
little pieces. They had only found about half of it
when the door-bell rang, and Dacre, with an open
telegram in his hands, was shown into the room.
When he saw the ladies grovelling on the floor over
a heap of torn-up papers he naturally thought they
had lost something valuable, and asked if he could
assist them.

" It is nothing of importance," said Betty, getting
up to receive him.

Rosamund got up too, and shook hands, but she
went down on her knees again almost directly.

" It is most unfortunate ..." began Dacre.

"Two more pieces! " cried Rosamund, too intent
on her own business to listen to his.

"What can you be doing? " said Dacre, looking
down at her.

" It is Herr Witt's envelope," she said, pointing to
the pieces put together on the carpet like a puzzle.
" I tore it up without thinking."

" Was there anything on it, then, except the
address?"

" No," said Rosamund, and would have gone on
with her search if her aunt had not seen that Dacre
wanted the girl's attention.

" Never mind the rest now," she said to her niece,
and signed to her to get up from the floor.

" This telegram is from your uncle in England,"
said Dacre. " I am sorry to say that he is ill and
cannot come."

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" But who sent for him? " said Betty.

" I did," said Dacre.

Without speaking, Betty expressed surprise.

" I had not thought it necessary," she said, after a
significant silence.

" I was within my rights," explained Dacre with
composure. " Dr. Arden and I are Professor Elsler's
executors and co-trustees."

"When was that arrangement made? "

" Yesterday . . . after the Geheimrath had
warned your brother-in-law that he had not long to
live."

" Yes," said Rosamund. " You knew it yester-
day and never told me. And we were both at a ball
when he died."

Dacre made no attempt just then to defend him-
self, partly because Betty went on speaking. She
was visibly ruffled already.

" Do you mean," she said, " that my brother-in-law
has left his affairs to foreigners instead of his own
countrymen? "

11 Dr. Arden is Rosamund's nearest relative," said
Dacre, " and I had the honour to be her father's
friend."

" Who will be Rosamund's guardian till she is of
age?"

" Dr. Arden in the first place ..."

" Am I assigned a second place, then? " suggested
Betty mockingly.

" No," said Dacre; " I take the second place."

"You!"

"You!" echoed Rosamund.

There was an uncomfortable pause. Betty looked
angry, Rosamund astonished, and Dacre as if he
wished the interview was over.

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" I suppose," said Rosamund, " that my father
thought it better to let men see to business matters.
He must have meant me to live with Aunt Betty.
Did he say anything about that? "

" He has left your uncle full powers," said Dacre
evasively. " For the next three years Dr. Arden
will decide where you are to live. No doubt he will
consult your wishes."

" Dr. Arden is ill," said Betty, looking at the tele-
gram Dacre had brought with him. " Suppose he
died ? Would his authority pass to you ? "

" As a matter of fact, I share it," said Dacre. " If
he died I should either stand alone or appoint some
one to act with me. But I hope he will live."

" The situation is absurd," said Betty brusquely.
" As a matter of fact, Rosamund has no one in the
world to look to but me, and her father knew it. How
old are you? "

" I am thirty-one," said Dacre.

" And unmarried! But the good Professor has
made fools of us all. Of course you tried to remon-
strate with him, to show him the folly of such an
arrangement? "

" I was more anxious to fulfil his wishes than to
criticise them," said Dacre.

" And you are sure he was in his right mind, I
suppose? Not a little unhinged by his state of
health, for instance?" C^u^

"The Geheimrath would bear witness to that,"
said Dacre, meeting the lady's glance squarely.
" But I am quite satisfied myself that he was as sane
and capable as you are."

" He has not considered his daughter much, or me
either," said Betty. " But that is an old story. It
is a great pleasure to reflect that the whole country

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will hear of his regard for you. Every one in Fich-
tenstadt will ask me about Rosamund's affairs, and
I shall have to explain that I have nothing to do with
them. I suppose I shall be told in course of time
what my niece will have to live on."

" It will not be much, I am sorry to say. But I
hope we may sell the Professor's library well, and
add something to the capital. There will be about a
hundred a year."

" It is lucky her tastes are simple," said Betty.

X

DACRE saw that Rosamund was thinking of her
father and not of her own future. She sat opposite
him with a dazed, absent look on her face, and he
felt sure that she only half followed what was said.
Yet sometimes her glance, fixed reflectively on him,
seemed to show that she was thinking about their
new relation to each other. He went on to tell
Betty of the arrangements proposed for the funeral.
The Professor's celebrity made his demise a public
event, and public honours to his remains had at once
been offered. There were many little matters to
arrange in connection with this, and even while
Dacre sat with the ladies, messages and telegrams
were brought to him.

" I am afraid our affairs are giving you a great deal
of trouble," said Betty. " But how is it these
questions are placed before you, and not before
Rosamund and me? "

" I am placing them before you," said Dacre. " I

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told the University authorities and Herr Richter, the
Professor's lawyer, that I should see you to-day."

" Does the whole town know already that my
brother-in-law left everything in your hands ? "

" I can't tell you what the town knows. It may be
misinformed. Everything is not in my hands."

" Dr. Arden can do nothing while he is in England
and ill."

" I hope he will not be iU long," said Dacre. " I
want to go to America as soon as possible. By the
way, I have not spoken to you yet about the Pro-
fessor's unfinished work on Corals, but perhaps you
know that I hope to carry it on."

" I know nothing about the Professor's work,"
said Betty. " I don't even understand why people
made such a fuss of him. If he began a book, why
couldn't he get it done? He had plenty of time on
his hands. I don't believe he has dined out or
entertained any one since his wife died, eight or nine
years ago. He ought to have saved more money.
I wonder if he has provided for old Luise ? "

Dacre reassured Frau Elsler on this point, and then
got up to go.

" You know where I am to be found if you want
me," he said to Rosamund.

" Shall I write to my uncle, or will you ? " she
asked, walking to the door with him.

" I must write in the way of business," said Dacre.
" But you may write too."

" I want to remain in Germany," she said. " Do
you think if I tell my uncle so he will consent? "

" He might," said Dacre uncertainly.

" Probably you could persuade him that it was
best for me."

" But I am not sure that it is," said Dacre.
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"How can you have an opinion? You hardly
know me."

" Well, I know what your father's wishes were."

" I have wishes of my own. My father never
recognised that. I hope you will."

" We must wait and hear what your uncle says,"
said Dacre, trying to put her off.

" I am not thinking now about my uncle," she
persisted. " I want you to tell him I ought to stay
in Germany. Will you do so ? "

"No."

"Why not? "

" Because your father wished you to go to England."

"He knew as little about me as you do. Aunt
Betty is quite right. I have no one in the world but
her, and it is cruel to separate us."

" My dear child . . ." began Dacre mistakenly.
Rosamund flushed with indignation at this form of
address.

" I wish you would remember that I am no longer a
child," she said.

Dacre took his coat down and got into it. He felt
angry and discouraged.

" Good-bye," he said rather stiffly.

" You were very kind to me last night," said
Rosamund. " Why are you unkind and conde-
scending to-day? "

"Condescending? "

" You should recognise that I am not a child, and
that I ought to live with Aunt Betty. It is true
that she did not appreciate my father, but neither
did he understand her. He actually thought she
was fickle."

" H . . . m! " said Dacre. His anger evaporated
as he surveyed the quaintly dressed young creature

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trying to hold her own with him. He smiled at her
as he might have smiled at a child, with kindly
toleration. " I must remember that you are grown
up, then," he said. " Would you like me to call you
Miss Elsler in future ? "

Rosamund looked down, not at her feet, which
were pretty and slender, but at the hideous felt
slippers in which they were cased. She did not
understand why, but she felt suddenly and strangely
conscious of her grotesque clothes and of her rough,
uncared-for hands.

" Perhaps it would remind you that I am in my
nineteenth year," she said.

Then she went back to her bedroom, sat down
before her glass, and astonished Betty by coming
into dinner with her hair arranged in a new way.
She had parted it in the middle, combed it over her
ears, and fastened it in a heavy knot on her neck.
With her shepherd's plaid frock and her felt shoes the
effect was, of course, ridiculous.

" It won't do with your clothes," said Betty,
cocking her head a little to judge of the effect. " You
can't go about the streets of Fichtenstadt looking
like a French poster. Where did you get the
idea?"

" From one of the fashion-books this morning."

" If you shut your eyes till you open a fashion-
book, you'll always come to grief. The way to dress
well is to watch well-dressed people, and let them
leaven your ideas. Fashion-books are useful as
reminders, but you must know what to avoid. You
have beautiful hair, and if you were going to play a
Maeterlinck princess at the Stadt Theater . . ."

"Have I beautiful hair?" cried Rosamund, too
much pleased to mind her manners.

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" I happen to think so," said Betty carelessly.
" Of course, many people hate that colour."

"Do they? "

" Don't you remember how Christian Witt shud-
dered at the thought of Frau Leite as Isolde? She
has red hair, you know."

Frau Leite was a singer who came over from
Bertholdsruhe occasionally. She weighed fifteen
stone, had pale carroty hair, a freckled skin, no
eyebrows, and snub features. But Rosamund had
never seen her, and she felt dejected. After dinner
she plaited her hair tightly at the back of her head
again, and wore it so for some time to come.

During the next few days the two ladies saw a
great deal of Dacre and very little of Christian Witt.
Various matters connected, first with the funeral,
and then with the settlement of Rosamund's money
affairs, brought Dacre, as well as Herr Richter, to
Betty's flat. There was no fresh news from Dr.
Arden yet, and the question of Rosamund's domicile
remained in abeyance. Dacre addressed her once or
twice as Miss Elsler, and then seemed to forget about
it, though she certainly looked more grown up in her
new black frocks, and so pretty that Betty scolded
the dressmaker for forgetting that deep mourning
ought not to be coquettish. Old Luise remained
in the next-door flat, and Rosamund, who still had
the key, often sat with her. One afternoon, nearly
three weeks after her father's death, she went over
there, and found that Luise had gone out. Her
aunt was out too, so she did not go back at once.
She went into her own old room and then into the
dining-room, where it was bitterly cold. Then it
came into her mind that she would like to see the
study again, and her father's books and writing-table.

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The picture of him was so vividly in her mind that
she could hardly imagine his chair empty and his
room desolate. She lingered with her hand on the
latch, half scared by the silence and her loneliness.
But a slight sound within the room so startled her
that she opened the door with an involuntary jerk,
and stood on the threshold in surprise. The room
was not cold and orderly and vacant, as she had
expected to find it. Dacre sat at the writing-table,
which was covered with books and papers, and the
air was warm. He looked up, and when he saw
Rosamund he came to meet her.

" I work here still sometimes," he said. " Did
Luise tell you I was here to-day? "

Rosamund shook her head.

" She is out," she said. " She told me one day
last week you were here, and then I did not come in.
I was afraid of disturbing you."

" You don't disturb me," said Dacre. " Be-
sides ..." His eyes travelled round the walls, lined
from floor to ceiling with books. " I have been
wanting to ask you about these books," he said.
" Are there any you would like to keep? "

" I should like to keep them all. But Aunt Betty
hates books, except just a few behind glass doors.
She says no one clean would have many about.
When Uncle Otto died she sold all his."

;< These have been valued at a thousand pounds."

" I wonder who will buy them ... or whether
any one will? "

" They are sold and paid for, and the money is
invested," said Dacre.

" Then how can I take any of them? " said Rosa-
mund.

" I can easily arrange that ... if you will just

The Professor's Legacy

tell me which you want ... in fact, I had picked
out a few I thought you might like. . . . Here they
are."

Rosamund went rather forlornly up to the shelf
Dacre pointed out, and found that he had set aside
the little English Temple Shakespeare for her, a good
edition of Goethe, and about a hundred volumes
more — French, English, and German. Some she
had read, and many she knew by name and hoped
to read.

" But Aunt Betty will never let me put them up/'
she said. " I should love to have them."

" I will see that you do have them, then," said
Dacre.

" Is the furniture to be sold too ? " said Rosamund.

" Are you anxious to keep any of it? "

" There are one or two things . . . and I should
like to give some to Luise. She is not going to
service again, and she has to furnish a room. I
think my father would have wished it."

" Very well," said Dacre. He paused a little, and
then he looked amongst the papers on the table for
a letter, which he presently found. " I was coming
to see you this evening," he said; " I have had
news of your uncle again. His doctor writes. I am
afraid he is seriously ill. He has just been able to
sign a power of attorney empowering me to act
without him. Luckily, everything is fairly plain
sailing now. Herr Richter and I can do what is
necessary before I start for America."

" How long shall you be there ? "

" Some months. I hope to get back in July."

Rosamund looked at the letter in her hands again.

" What shall I do if my uncle sends for me or
fetches me while you are away ? " she asked.

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" You would have to go," said Dacre.
" But I have never seen him. I might not like
him at all, or the conditions of life that he has to

offer."

" That would be unfortunate," said Dacre.

There were moments when Rosamund hated him,
and this was one of them. He made her feel that
she had no weapons, and that beneath all his kindness
there was rock. She could have stamped her foot
at him if it had been a possible thing to do.

" I want to make Aunt Betty some amends for the
slight my father put on her," she said. " She feels
it deeply, I know. Have you any objection ? "

" What do you want to do? " said Dacre.

She went to the old mahogany cupboard and opened
it; but she did not see what she expected.

" There was a jewel-case," she said.

" I have sent it to the bank," said Dacre.

" Why have you done that ? "

" I thought it was safer. I have sent the silver
there too."

" I don't want the silver, but I want the other
things. There is a diamond comb and an emerald
ring that belonged to my grandmother, and I wish
to give them to Aunt Betty. In fact, she says they
are hers by rights, because her husband was the elder
son. But my father married first, and somehow
they got into his wife's hands."

" I think I can set your mind easy on that point,"
said Dacre. " It was not ' somehow ' at all. They
were your grandmother's wedding presents to your
mother. But of course I can't go back in that way.
The things came into my hands as your father's
property, and I hold them in trust for you. I have
no power to give them to any one else."

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" But they are mine."

" They will be yours."

Rosamund turned from the cupboard and looked
at him. If he had a temper, it was under control;
if he felt impatient with her, he did not show it. He
hardly moved as he talked; his hands never flashed
subtleties of meaning, as Christian Witt's did; his
square-set shoulders were incapable of a shrug.

" You might let me have those two things to give
my aunt."

" Your aunt has fixed on the most valuable things
in the collection," said Dacre dryly.

" Never mind," said Rosamund. " They are
mine, and I wish her to have them."

"Very well," said Dacre.

She thought she had prevailed, and felt both
surprised and pleased, but at the back of her mind
a little disappointed with him.

" Of course, she will have to wait till you are of age,"
he added.

"Oh! " she cried naively. " I thought you were
going to give in."

He looked rather amused, and began to talk of
something else.

" You will like to know what money arrangements
I have made for you while I am away," he said. " A
certain sum will be paid to your aunt for your main-
tenance . . . and the rest ... it is not very much
. . . will be paid to you every month for clothes and
personal expenses. Then I have told Herr Richter
that if you want money for a journey to England it
may be advanced to you."

" I hope I shall not want that," said Rosamund.
"Aunt Betty is going to Obermatt in August, and I
have set rny heart on going with her."

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" Have you? " said Dacre.

" Yes. Herr Witt is coming there too."

"Is he?"

Dacre had sat down at the writing-table again, and
was absently arranging some papers.

" If you are still in Germany when I get back from
America, I shall come and see you," he said. " But if
you are in England, as I hope you will be, I want you
to come and stay with my sister and me at Ormath-
waite."

" Where is Ormathwaite? " asked Rosamund when
she had thanked him for the invitation.

" In the North of England. It is the name of my
home."

" Does your sister live there ? "

" She is a good deal away," said Dacre. " Other-
wise, if your uncle fails you, you might have come to
us. As things are, I am afraid it is impossible for
long together."

" It is very kind of you to think of it," said Rosa-
mund. " But Aunt Betty has not failed me, so I am
not without a home."

She got up to go, and Dacre did not try to detain
her. He went with her to the door of the flat.

" Don't forget to let me know what furniture you
want to keep," he said.

" I wish you would change your mind about the
ring and the combv" said she.

He did not say anything. From his point of view
there was nothing more to be said. His silence made
her wish she had not spoken.

" By the way, who bought my father's library? "
she said in a hurry.

" I did," said he, after a moment's hesitation.

" You ! Did any one else make an offer for it ? "
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" Not for the whole."

" It is going to England, then."

" Yes."

Rosamund, after a little reflection, held out her
hand.

" I am much obliged to you for all you have done
for me," she said demurely.

XI

You cannot see the village of Obermatt from the
valley, and it takes two hours of leisurely uphill walk-
ing to get there. V/hen you arrive you find a good-
sized hotel, surrounded by forest, and that is all.
There is no village street and no corporate village
life, but only a few scattered peasant homesteads
with thatched roofs and deep, overhanging eaves.
The hotel is crowded in the summer season, but
Betty had written in good time to secure rooms for
herself and her niece. They had arrived ten days
ago, and Betty had several quarrels on hand already
and several flirtations. She was enjoying herself
famously. Rosamund she left to her own devices.

" There is no need for us to be constantly together
here," she said to her niece. " You must make
friends with some girls of your own age. When I
come to Obermatt I like to sit by myself and read
poetry and look at the trees. Above all, I desire to
avoid the hotel gossip."

By this time Rosamund naturally knew more about
her aunt than she had done six months ago. Other-
wise, at the end of ten days she would have thought
that Betty was having an unfruitful time. She was

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never alone for an hour, and she was involved in
every dispute and every excitement that shook the
social system of the hotel. Whether she sat on the
terrace with a group of friends, or walked in the woods
with one or more of her admirers, she was a centre
of mischief and, as it seemed, of amusement. Major
Vollmar and Herr Liibeck shadowed her, and Rosa-
mund could not help wondering what would happen
when Christian Witt arrived. He was expected this
afternoon, and Betty had allowed it to be generally
known that he was a genius of the first order and her
devoted friend.

Rosamund had not seen her aunt yet to-day. She
had found a comfortable seat in the forest directly
after breakfast, and had sat there all the morning with
her embroidery. Somehow she had not made friends
yet with any one in the hotel. She was too shy to
take the first steps, too quiet and girlish to attract
the men, and too nearly connected with Betty to
please the women. But she was happier here than she
had been of late in Fichtenstadt. It was more agree-
able to be on neutral ground than on her aunt's flat,
where she had come to feel herself in the way.

There was nowhere else for her to be, however.
Her uncle had written to her in a trembling hand and
offered her a home as soon as he should be well again.
But a few weeks later a letter came from a firm of
English solicitors to say that Dr. Arden was dead,
and had left his niece a little legacy of a hundred
pounds.

" This settles it," Betty had said in a tone of resigna-
tion. " You must live with me."

On looking back, it seemed to Rosamund that
directly the question was settled the difficulties began.
As long as she was to live in England Betty wanted

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her, but when Betty's home became the only one
available, Betty began to see drawbacks. She had
only one spare room, and Rosamund occupied it.
The maids had more to do. Rosamund's clothes
required supervision. Rosamund wanted to practise,
and the sound of scales got on Betty's nerves. Worst
of all, Rosamund was always there — when Betty
felt cross, when Betty felt tired, when her friends
came, when Christian Witt came. The situation
was quite simple: Betty liked the regular sum paid
for Rosamund's expenses, but she was tired of having
the girl always about. When she thought of the
money she was civil, when she felt out of humour she
showed it. She had no idea of being unkind, but she
had always been one of those people who manage to
make their surroundings spoil them. She was selfish
and capricious, and when it suited her she could be
unscrupulous. Lately she had begun to wish her
niece out of the way on Christian Witt's account, and
she had sometimes shown this too plainly for the
girl's comfort. The Egeria to a genius is just as
jealous of a rival as a woman who has more definite
claims.

As Rosamund sat over her embroidery this morning
she thought of these things, but without condemning
her aunt. She was puzzled and a little hurt by
Betty's occasional want of friendliness, but she still
took her elders for granted almost as a child does,
and only wished they were invariably just and amiable.
When she thought of Christian Witt's arrival a few
hours hence, the immediate future looked golden.
He still called her Kind. He never seemed to recog-
nise the full count of her years, but he had made much
of her of late. All through the spring and summer
he had given her singing lessons, and, busy as he was,

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he made time to sit with her aunt and her and enter-
tain them. For no one could be dull in Christian's
company. Either he delighted you with his music
or he amused you by his talk, which expressed his
view of life with much humour and vivacity.

When the dinner-bell rang at one o'clock, and
Rosamund followed a stream of hungry people into
the dining-room, she could hardly put herself back
into the frame of mind that depended on Betty's
affection and swore by her friendship. From her
place at the dinner-table she watched her aunt enter
the room, and admitted that she knew how to dress
and walk, and how to bow to people with a little air
of condescension, amusing to her friends and en-
raging to her enemies. She nodded to her niece as
she sat down, and asked her where she had hidden
herself all the morning.

" I've been playing croquet with Major Vollmar,"
she went on, without waiting for Rosamund's answer.
" Those English girls came and looked on, so I knew
they coveted the ground. Such objects as they are!
They come in from a walk all hot and melting, so that
you want to look the other way. And they talk
about people in English, as if there was any one here
who did not understand English. However, I believe
I've stopped that. They were standing close to me,
and the one without a waist said quite loudly, * That
woman can't play for nuts! ' Major Vollmar was
near too, so I said to him in German, ' That woman
in mouldy green has very bad manners. Do you
know who she is ? ' "

" I wonder if they understood? " said Rosamund,
horror-stricken at this passage of arms.

" I am sure they did," said Betty, helping herself
to horse-radish sauce with an air of satisfaction. " I

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have heard them speak German to the servants.
Besides, they got red and moved away.'*

Rosamund wished her aunt was less pugnacious.
In spite of their clothes, she liked the looks of the
English girls, and would gladly have made friends
with them. She did not attach much weight to their
making audible remarks in English about their
German neighbours, because she had been told that
it is the way of some English to do this abroad, just
as it is the way of some Germans to eat with a knife.
The Miss Harringtons had not been very well brought
up, perhaps, but they belonged to a large, cheerful
party, and never sat down in solitude to embroider
pocket-handkerchiefs.

" What are you going to do this afternoon? " she
asked her aunt.

" In this heat? Nothing at all. Go to sleep if I
can."

" I thought perhaps you would walk down to
Niedermatt and meet Herr Witt, and that I might
go with you."

Rosamund meant to make this proposal with a
matter-of-fact air; but her aunt's glance of derision
flurried her. Half-way through she blushed.

" Can't you wait till he comes? " said Betty.

After dinner every one streamed out of doors again
and Betty sat on the terrace with her two admirers,
Major Vollmar and Herr Liibeck. Rosamund did
not sit down with them. When she first came to
Obermatt she would have done so, but she had seen
lately that she was not always wanted. At first she
stood about on the terrace, feeling a little forlorn.
Then she went up to her own room and read for an
hour, and then, though she had an uncomfortable
idea that her aunt would disapprove, she changed her

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gown. She took off her crumpled black linen and
put on a white delaine that had little black spots on
it, and was fresh and elegant. She wore a broad
black sash with it and a shady black hat. When
she was ready she looked wistfully in the glass, and
wondered whether, in spite of her red hair, Christian
Witt would think her pretty. She was proud of the
delaine gown, because she had chosen it herself, and
paid for it out of the money that came to her every
month for her private expenses. When Betty had
first been told of this arrangement she had demurred
to it.

" Rosamund has never had a shilling of her own,"
she said to Dacre. " You cannot expect her to
manage money yet."

" I do expect it," said Dacre. " She is old enough
to have an allowance for her clothes and such
things."

" She will probably get into debt."

" I promise not to do that," said Rosamund. And
she had kept her promise, and had never ceased to
thank Dacre for securing her independence to this
extent. She had managed her money very sensibly
so far, and had saved some to pay her journey here
and the extra cost of hotel life. Her uncle's little
legacy had not come into her hands. Herr Richter
said it ought to be added to her capital and invested,
and she had taken his advice. Dacre had written
last from the Bermudas, and said he expected to be in
Fichtenstadt again early in August, and that if she
went away with her aunt she must leave her address
with Herr Richter. She had done this, and knew,
therefore, that her guardian might appear any day
at Obermatt.

By the time Rosamund was ready to go out it was

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five o'clock, and she knew that Christian Witt would
arrive at the station in the valley at half-past four.
She did not know whether he would send on his
luggage and walk through the woods, or whether he
would hire a carriage and drive. The hotel did not
possess an omnibus, but it sent down a cart for luggage.
She made up her mind that she would take her usual
afternoon walk, and that she might as well take the
path leading down to Niedermatt. She often went
that way, and so did every one else in the hotel.
There was a confectioner at Niedermatt where you
could get coffee and cakes and ices, and walk back
again in time for the hotel supper. The hilltops sur-
rounding Obermatt were not as well provided with
refreshments as they should have been, and on that
account were not popular with the German visitors.
Rosamund had never been any long walk yet, because
she never had a companion. This afternoon she
thought she might reach a seat commanding a stretch
of the carriage-road and close to the path. Any one
coming from Niedermatt must pass there. In fact,
it was a favourite look-out, and she did not for a
moment expect to have it to herself.

The hotel clock struck the half-hour before she got
there. She could not see the seat yet, but she heard
voices, and as she drew nearer she thought she recog-
nised them. The next step took her in sight before
she had decided whether she would rather turn back
or go on. There sat her Aunt Betty, looking as fresh
as a daisy, and there sat Christian Witt beside her;
and they both laughed when they beheld Rosamund,
because she stood still and showed her surprise.

" How did you get here ... so soon? " she said
to Christian, as he shook hands with her.

" Your aunt came down in a carriage, and we drove
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up as far as this/' he said. " We thought we would
get out here and walk."

Betty's eyes were fixed on the girl with unfriendly
interrogation.

" What became of you after dinner ? " she said.
" You vanished. You might have driven down with
me. It was a sudden idea."

" I was in my room," said Rosamund.

" Making yourself so smart," said Betty.

Christian Witt glanced from the aunt to the niece.
They spoke civilly, but so do men about to fight a duel.
He heard a note of delicate derision in Betty's tone,
and of indignation in Rosamund's. But it never
surprised him to see two women hostile to each other,
especially when he stood between them. The situa-
tion was so recurrent that, like a wise man, he had
ceased to trouble about it. Somehow these affairs
settled themselves in the long-run. He talked im-
partially to both ladies on the way home, called
Betty " Dear friend " and Rosamund " Dear child,"
and gave them ten days' news of Fichtenstadt.
When they got to the hotel they sat on the terrace for
some time and looked at the Alpine view. Every one
else out there looked at Christian Witt, whose reputa-
tion, thanks to Betty, had preceded him. His looks,
his pleasant voice, and his jolly laugh made most
people hope to know him. Presently he went into
the hotel to find his room, and when he came down
again he found Rosamund in the rear of the whole
company, on its way in to supper.

" I suppose I shall sit with your aunt and you ? " he
said.

" I don't know what my aunt has arranged," said
Rosamund.

But when they got to the dining-room they saw
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what Betty had arranged. She had taken the centre
seat of three side ones left for them at the end of
a long table, and there is no doubt that under the
circumstances most men would have acquiesced in
her arrangement, however little they liked it. But
Christian did not consider acquiescence a virtue;
even politeness he regarded as an ornament to be
discarded any time when it stood in his way.

" I want to sit between you and the child/' he said.
" I want to talk to you both."

" You don't expect me to get up? " said Betty.

But she might have known that he would have his
way. Of course, it was a lucky chance for him that
the end seat was unoccupied. But luck loves men of
Christian's temperament. He signed to Rosamund
to take the end seat, and sat down himself between
the two ladies. A waitress came forward and brought
Rosamund knives and forks and glasses from the place
now left empty on her aunt's right hand. It did not
improve Betty's temper to know that some of
the women who loved her were watching and
smiling.

" What a fuss ! " she said to Christian. " You will
turn the girl's head, and you will mislead people.
My niece has grown up. Don't you see ? "

" I don't want to see," said Christian.

" She will be nineteen on Thursday. At her age I
was married."

" Some natures develop earlier than others," said
Christian sententiously ; and then he changed the
subject.

Towards the end of the meal he began to talk of a
campaign he meant to inaugurate against the manage-
ment of the opera at Fichtenstadt. Sloth, incom-
petence, and jobbery could all be proved against it,

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he swore, and he was going to fight for a better state of
things, whatever the consequences might be.

" I can tell you exactly what the consequences
wiU be," said Betty. " You will raise enemies in
every quarter, and finally be driven from the town.
Where Michaelis failed you will fail."

" I don't believe it," said Christian. " Michaelis
was too sensitive for a fighter. Any blackguard
could make him miserable. I've no poetry of that
kind in my composition. If I attack rascals I expect
them to retaliate like rascals, and not like decent
people."

" You are a young man at the beginning of a great
career. Leave people alone till you are stronger."

" I am strong enough for anything," said Christian,
laughing. ''I'm one of the best musicians in
Germany. I can always make my way ... if not
here . . . then in England or America. I had a
letter yesterday from an Englishman who was with
me at Leipsic. He is getting up some concerts in his
own town, and asks me to come over and conduct at
two of them. He says quite half the orchestra would
understand when I damned them in German. Child,"
he said, turning suddenly to Rosamund, " we will
speak English together all day here, and you shall
correct my mistakes ; then I shall know how to damn
in English also."

" But you are not judicious," persisted Betty.
" You are inclined to offend people in power."

Christian was still looking at Rosamund, and he
saw that she did not agree with her aunt.

"What are you thinking of? " he said in a low
voice ; and she was able to answer in a low voice, for
just then every one got up from table, and there was
a good deal of noise.

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" I was thinking that Siegfried was not judicious
when he killed the Worm," she said. " He might
have been killed himself."

"H . . . m! "growled Christian," I'm not exactly
a Siegfried, either. Don't get romantic ideas into
your head, child, about me. I've half the town on
my side already."

" So had Michaelis," said Betty, who heard the last
few words.

" But they made him afraid," said Rosamund.

" You don't know what a coward I am," said
Christian. " I've often run away from a woman! "

XII

AFTER supper Betty sat down at one of the little
veranda tables with Rosamund and Christian Witt,
and directly they were settled Major Vollmar and
Herr Liibeck joined them. For ten days they had
been welcome to Betty from morning till night, and
they did not see why a new-comer should displace
them. Besides, they liked the looks of the musician.
He made room for them in the most friendly way,
and told one or two good stories while he smoked a
cigar. Then he turned to Rosamund, and asked if
there was a decent piano in the hotel. Rosamund
said it was not bad, but that after supper the English
girls usually took possession of it.

" We'll see," said Christian, getting up. " I don't
care for this veranda; it's too full of people."

" If we leave this table we shall not get it again
to-night," said Betty. " I always spend the evening
here."

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" Nothing will induce me to," said Christian. " I
want some air, and then I want some music."

He stood up, and, looking at Rosamund, made an
imaginary flute of his fingers, fluted a few notes of the
bird-call in Siegfried to her, and smiled. She got up
too, as if she meant to follow him.

"Rosamund, where are you going?" said her
aunt sharply.

" She is coming with me," said Christian, and
straightway marched off with her. He certainly had
no manners, but Rosamund did not think that
mattered as she walked beside him. Nevertheless,
when she spoke it was to reproach him.

" I told you I would not come when you fluted to
me," she protested. " As if you were the piper and
I was ... a rat! "

"A child," he amended. "And I told you you
would come, and here you are."

" It was the moon that drew me," said Rosamund.

He took her beyond the terrace to a seat from
which they could look down on the forest and the
great moonlit plain lying between their hills and the
snow mountains of Switzerland. They sat there for
some time enjoying the stillness and the cool, scented
air, and he talked to her about a great Beethoven
festival in Vienna to which he was going next month.
He did not make love to her, but the beauty of the
night wrapped the girl round with its own glamour.
She was sorry when Christian said in a matter-of-fact
way that it was getting chilly, and that they would
go in and look at the piano now.

Rosamund led him to a big barn-like room, where
children played on wet days and young people some-
times danced after supper. There was a cottage
piano in one corner, and one of the English girls was
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singing a song to her own accompaniment. Her
mother, her sister, and three feminine cousins were
all listening, but they were talking too. It was a
mournful song — mournful and sugary. Christian's
face as he stood by and heard it upset Rosamund's
gravity, and she turned her head to hide her smiles.

" Du lieber Himmel! " groaned Christian. " She
is playing the accompaniment in E flat and singing
the song in E natural."

The girl heard him, but did not seem put out.
She finished stolidly, and then got up. Christian at
once took her place. At first his fingers ran over
the keys, trying the quality of the piano. Then he
played a nocturne by Chopin that took Rosamund
back to the moonlight and the forest. Then he
began the accompaniment to Garten, by Richard
Strauss, and signed to Rosamund to sing it. She had
a pretty voice, and, as Christian had taught her, you
may be sure she sang correctly and without affecta-
tion. He did not praise her when she had finished,
so she knew he was satisfied. Christian's pupils
heard of it when he was not satisfied.

But the English girl had annoyed him while
Rosamund sang by talking to one of her cousins
about blouses. He heard Rosamund, but he also
heard that " she had just sent to London for Well-
don's Blouse Number, and that she meant to make
that blue muslin with gaugings and Vandykes of
lace," etc.

" Friiulein," said Christian, turning in his chair,
" if you will give us the pleasure again of singing a
song in one key while you play the accompaniment
in another, I will tell Fraulein Elsler how many
buttons there are on my new coat."

He waited a moment for the astonished girl to
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reply, then turned back and crashed into Liszt's
arrangement of the Erlkonig. When he finished he
had Rosamund only for an audience.

" One of them said you must be a genius, you
were so rude," she told him sadly; " and the mother
said you might be a genius, but that you were not a
gentleman."

" It's not my metier in life to be a gentleman,"
said Christian. " I'm a musician, and I don't want
to hear a little goose chatter about blouses while I'm
at the piano. She was rude first. Now I will play
you the prelude to Parsifal, and then we will go back
to your aunt, or she will be angry with us both."

But if Betty felt anger, she did not show it to
Christian. She received him amiably, and asked
him if he would like a long forest drive next day.

" I like anything . . . except bad music," he said.

For the next ten days it really seemed as if he
liked anything and any one, but perhaps Rosamund
best of all. He went for walks and drives with both
ladies, and he sat on the terrace or the veianda with
them and their friends. He got on excellently well
with Major Vollmar and Herr Liibeck. They said
he was delightful company. Besides, he seemed to
approve of their attentions to Betty, and to share in
their admiration of her. Sometimes the three men
played skat, while the ladies brought out their bits
of embroidery; sometimes the party of five went
for long expeditions. Once, when it rained, Chris-
tian got up an impromptu concert, with every one in
the hotel as audience or performers. He had made
friends long since with the English family, who were
not quite sure yet that he was a gentleman, but as
sure as they could be of his genius, and rather proud
than otherwise of his acquaintance. He even let the
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singing girl sing at his concert, but he coached her
for an hour beforehand, and she said afterwards
that he had frightened her out of her wits, and taught
her more than she had ever learnt before. He was
rather proud of her himself, because she sang three
parts of a song in tune. She told Rosamund that
they called him the Viking, because he was so big
and fierce and fair, and Rosamund perceived that
all five young ladies were ready to fall a little in love
with him, whether he was a gentleman or not. In
fact, Christian became the centre of things in Ober-
matt, just as he was the centre of things in Fich-
tenstadt, and it was done without desire or effort on
his part. He had come for rest and change, and he
did not seek to please people or to consort with many.
But he attracted nearly every one by his good-humour
and his vitality. Two or three people, however,
said he had the manners of a bear. For instance,
an inquisitive lady called Fraulein Plotz questioned
Christian one day about his relations with Rosamund,
and complained afterwards of his curt replies.

" I only asked him if the girl had money of her
own, and whether he considered her ripe for marriage,"
she said. " I don't know why he should have
snapped my head off as he did. They are always
together. What are we given eyes and tongues for,
I should like to know ? Not to bury in a napkin ! "

" But I don't feel at all sure whether it is the aunt
or the niece," said some one else. " He is attentive
to both."

" You mean they are attentive to him," said
Fraulein Plotz.

Her very knitting-needles sounded venomous as
she clicked them, and when Christian passed her he
looked the other way. It did not surprise him to

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find that people were hatching theories about his
relations with Betty and Rosamund, but it did not
weigh on his mind much either. He did not know
that some of these silly people said a word or sent a
glance and a smile to the girl now and then that gave
her ardent hope the support of public expectation.
As the days went on, she hardly knew what to hope
or expect. It seemed hardly possible for a man to
show a girl greater affection than Christian showed
her; but his manner was just as intimate and tender
before others as it was when they were by themselves,
and so was his speech. He seemed to be a little on his
guard when they were by themselves. Her coiffure
and her gowns had certainly done a good deal for her,
but not what she expected. He still treated her as
a child, even on her nineteenth birthday, when he
brought her roses and wished her many happy returns.
Betty gave her niece a feather fan, and produced it
at the breakfast-table in the presence of Christian
Witt.

" I suppose wherever you are you will go to balls
next spring and want a fan," she said.

" I hope I shall be in Fichtenstadt next spring,"
said Rosamund, when she had admired the fan.

11 You would be in England if you carried out your
father's wishes," said Betty.

" But ..." said Rosamund, and got no further.

Something in her aunt's manner — an absence of
regret, perhaps— the suggestion that they might be
parted, distressed the girl and startled her. She
had put all thoughts of England out of her mind
lately.

" England is a long way off, and so is next spring,"
said Christian. " Don't spoil the child's birthday
by talking of them."

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" I enter mytwentieth year to-day, "said Rosamund.
"How can I be a child? "

" Don't remind me of it," said Christian. " Leave
well alone."

" What are we going to do ? " said Betty languidly.
" I suppose there must be a birthday celebration ? "

" What would you like to do, Aunt Betty? " asked
Rosamund.

Betty said she would like to find a shady seat in
the forest and go to sleep; but as that was mani-
festly impossible, she proposed to drive to Niedermatt,
go by train to Gross Laufenburg, stare at the rapids,
sleep there, and come back next day.

" Could we stop at Sakkingen? " said Rosamund.
" It is on the way to Laufenburg."

" There is nothing to see at Sakkingen," said
Betty; " I have been there."

" But there is the old church and Werner's tomb,
and you can see the same bit of the river that Werner
saw when the Rhine came up out of the water and
talked to him. I have always wanted to see Sak-
kingen, and some day I mean to go to the Bodensee
and find the Hohen Twiel."

" You must do that on your wedding journey,"
said Christian.

The colour flamed in Rosamund's cheeks at his
words, although he spoke lightly and without personal
emphasis. Betty stared at the girl, and Christian
glanced at her as if she puzzled him.

" Shall we three be by ourselves to-day? " he said
to Betty.

"I hope not," said Betty; " I am going to ask
Major Vollmar to make a fourth. Herr Liibeck
expects friends to-day."

In Christian's opinion ill-humour was the unpardon-
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able sin, and Betty was in an atrocious humour this
morning.

" What is the matter with your aunt ? " he said
to Rosamund a little later. " Nothing pleases her
the last few days. What have we done ? "

Rosamund had a shrewd suspicion of what ailed
her aunt and of what they had done, but she did not
know how to explain it.

" Perhaps she has been a little bored by Major
Vollmar lately," she said. "He is very tedious, but
to-day I will talk more to him."

Christian laughed outright, and said that would not
please the Major, and that Rosamund should not be
sacrificed on her birthday. He sat on the terrace
with his cigar and Henschel's time-tables, and Rosa-
mund sat beside him. It was going to be a hot day,
but at this height and at this early hour the air was
fresh and pleasant still. Rosamund had put on her
white delaine again, and she wore some of Christian's
roses in her waistband. His jest about her wedding
journey came into her mind, as she watched him
study the time-tables. A little frown drew his
brows together; his attention was fixed on the open
page. What an enchantment a journey made with
him would be — a journey to beautiful places, and
with no third person to be out of humour, because
they liked to be together! The thought flashed into
Rosamund's mind and out again. She knew she
ought not to give such an adventurous idea harbour-
age there, and she tried to fix her attention on some-
thing Christian was telling her about trains.

" We must start in half an hour," he said. " Can
you be ready? "

" I can," said Rosamund. " I don't know about
Aunt Betty."

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" Run and ask her," said he. "I'll find out about
the carriage."

Rosamund did not go willingly, but she went. She
instinctively avoided being alone with her aunt lately,
and she hoped now to find her still downstairs, and to
give her Christian's message in the presence of other
people. But Betty was in her own room.

" Well? " she said, when her niece entered.

" Could you be ready in half an hour, Aunt Betty ? "
she asked.

" I could, but I don't mean to be. I have ordered
the carriage in time to catch the three o'clock train."

" Heir Witt says that if we take the earlier one we
can have a few hours at Sakkingen."

" I don't want a minute there. I told you so this
morning. You and Christian never think of any one
but yourselves. But you won't get me into that
hole to-day. We shall have thunder before long."

Rosamund could not dispute her aunt's decision,
but she looked rather dejected as she gave the message
to Christian Witt. He immediately looked as if he
meant to carry his point.

" Get your bag and wait here for me," he said.
" The carriage will be round in a few minutes."

He went off, as Rosamund surmised, to see her
aunt, and he came striding back with his own bag in
his hand just as the carriage drew up in front of the
hotel. " Get in," he said to the girl, and they were
driving off before she had time to ask any questions.

" It's all right," said Christian. " Your aunt was
quite willing that we should go to Sakkingen. She
is coming on later with Major Vollmar."

Although Rosamund hardly knew the ways of the
world yet, it struck her that the hotel guests might
well open their eyes at seeing her drive off with one

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young man, and her aunt a little later in the day with
another. When they went four or five together, it
seemed, somehow, different. But the arrangement
was made by her elders, and had the merit of being
pleasant. In fact, it promised to foreshadow that
longer journey she had just imagined and desired.
She enjoyed every stage of it : the drive through the
woods of Obermatt, and then the train journey to
Sakkingen, the sleepy little town that lies like a sack
in the midst of the Rhine, and has an Irishman for
patron saint, where the Bettys of the world find
" nothing to bee," and where more imaginative people
see in every stone the story and the poem of the
Trumpeter. They looked at the church and at
Werner's grave, and they drove to the little moun-
tain lake where the Trumpeter went fishing one May
morning with a picnic party, as various and cheerful
as the Canterbury pilgrims. Then they came back
to the inn, still called the Knopf, and had dinner on
a terrace overlooking the Rhine. By this time the
heat and closeness of the day had grown intense.
When they came out into the market-place after
dinner, the town seemed to be asleep. No one was
about, and the very dogs hardly raised their heads as
Christian and Rosamund made their way across the
sun-baked cobble-stones. The troops of children
playing there in the morning had vanished, the sky
hung leaden overhead; and though the sunshine had
gone, the air was hotter than ever.

"We shall hardly get to the station dry," said
Christian. " If you want photographs you must be
quick."

As he spoke, the lightning flashed across their eyes,
and was followed the next moment by a crash of
thunder. It was going to be a heavy storm.

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" Run to the station as hard as you can/' said
Christian. " You know the way. I'll get some
photographs and come after you."

" Never mind about them," began Rosamund, but
he signed to her impatiently to do as she was told,
and not waste time in discussion; for the lightning
came every moment now, and the thunder with it.
They were in the heart of the storm. Rosamund ran
as hard as she could towards the cover of the station.
It had turned so dark that when she got inside she
could distinguish no one at first, but a good many
people were either waiting or taking shelter there.
Then a vivid flash of lightning turned night to day
for an instant, and a tall Englishman saw Rosamund's
face by it and came towards her. As he held
out his hand the lightning flashed between them
again.

" Mr. Dacre! " she cried in surprise.

" I sent you a wire," he said. " I suppose you
started early."

" But are you on your way to Obermatt? "

" Yes . . . from Constance. I've been taking my
sister to Switzerland."

He looked round for Frau Elsler.

" Where is your aunt ? " he said.

" We are going to meet her at Gross Laufenburg,"
said Rosamund.

"We?"

" Heir Witt is here. You remember him ? "

" Perfectly. But where is Herr Witt? "

At this moment Christian appeared, running head-
long through the heavy rain now falling. He thrust
a parcel of photographs into Rosamund's hands,
grunted with discomfort, and began to shake himself
like a huge wet dog.

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" Take care! " cried Rosamund, snatching her gown
out of danger.

" How d'ye do, Herr Witt," said Dacre.

The two men shook hands cordially. They were
quite inclined to like each other. Rosamund could
not discover from her guardian's manner whether he
was scandalised to find her here with the musician.
He showed neither surprise nor displeasure at present ;
but when Christian went forward to take their tickets
for Gross Laufenburg, Dacre said he would take one
too.

" How surprised Aunt Betty will be to see you! "
said Rosamund.

" Is she there by herself? " asked Dacre.

" I believe Major Vollmar was to go with her," said
Rosamund vaguely, feeling this admission an uncom-
fortable one. She stole a glance at Dacre's face to
see how it affected him, and found again that he did
not reveal his thoughts as simply as she did herself.

" We are enjoying ourselves very much at Ober-
matt," she added.

" So it appears," said Dacre.

XIII

BETTY met them on the old roofed-in wooden bridge
that crosses the Rhine between the twin towns of
Gross and Klein Laufenburg. She was alone, and she
greeted Dacre as if she was pleased to see him.

" I opened your telegram to Rosamund, so I knew

you were somewhere about," she said. "But I

hardly expected you to be clever enough to turn

up here. Major Vollmar was hindered at the last

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moment. Now we are a party of four again. I
detest three. One is always in the way. I am sure
you and Rosamund must have a great deal to say to
each other. How did you like New York? Have
you brought back a millionaire's daughter? Not?
What a strange Englishman! I thought New
York was exclusively peopled by millionaires'
daughters and policemen with clubs. Nothing has
happened to us since you went away except that
we are both six months older . . . and wiser. Six
months may change your opinions more than they
change the fashions. You wear the same sleeves,
but you don't like the same people. Rosamund has
quite grown up, you perceive. Should you have
known her if you had met her unexpectedly ? You did,
you say? But you knew we were in this neighbour-
hood. To-day is her birthday, and she had set her
romantic little heart on seeing the Trumpeter's tomb.
So Herr Witt sacrificed himself in spite of the heat.
I told them they would be caught in a thunderstorm.
Did the tomb come up to your expectations, child,
and did you shed a few tears on it ? "

Rosamund thought that everything was turning
out uncomfortably to-day. She did not know how
to answer her aunt's badinage without betraying
that she did not like it. So she smiled as amiably as
she could and said nothing. Christian had gone on
ahead to order coffee, and when they all sat down
to it Betty managed to sit beside him. Before long
she proposed that Dacre should take Rosamund for
a stroll.

" I am tired," said Rosamund, looking up from
her photographs. " We walked about a good deal
at Sakkingen."

" Very well," said Betty, and she turned to

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Christian. " Come and see the old town before it is
dark," she said.

He made no objection, and Rosamund watched
them wistfully as they went off together.

" Don't you want to see the town? " she said to
Dacre.

" I am in no hurry. I have come to Germany to
see you. How have you been getting on? "

" Very well."

" Have you had a pleasant summer so far ? "

" Yes."

" You are not ready to come to England yet? "

The girl looked up from her photographs, her eyes
dilated with alarm and surprise.

" How can I come now that my uncle is dead ? "
she said. " I thought I was safe."

Dacre made no direct answer, but he took a small
leather case from his pocket and placed it before
her.

" I remembered it was your birthday," he said.
" I ordered this for you before I went away."

Rosamund opened the case, and saw an admirably
executed miniature of her father, set round with
pearls, and hanging as a pendant from a fine gold
chain. Both pleasure and remembrance were in her
eyes as she thanked him.

" I am not doing as he wished," she said a little
later. " He told you I was to go to England."

" That is what I desire to arrange," said Dacre.

Rosamund pushed back her chair and rose from the
table.

" Shall we go and look at the town ? " she said.

" I thought you were tired."

" I am rested now."

Gross Laufenburg consists of two streets of crazy
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houses straggling up a hill to a ruined fortress and an
old church on the top. It faces Klein Laufenburg,
and between the two towns the Rhine rushes headlong
over the great rocks that break it into rapids. The
hills all round are covered with forest, and are dwarf
and smooth. But though the scene spread before
Rosamund offered none of the sensational effects the
world rushes in crowds to see, she turned again and
again to look at it with pleasure. The upper reach
of the river flowed quietly towards the boulders that
were to dash it into fury, the roar of the broken waters
made a deep sonorous accompaniment to the clatter
of village life, and the steep, uneven street was busy
with troops of flaxen-haired children come out at
sundown to play.

" I have never seen anything so pretty,'* said
Rosamund; " but, then, I have not travelled much.
I should like to see the whole world."

" I thought you were tied to Fichtenstadt."

" My affections are, of course. I should like to
have a home in Fichtenstadt, and money enough
to go away from home sometimes."

As Rosamund spoke, Betty and Christian came up
to them, and stopped to compare impressions.

" I've seen all I want to," said Betty. " I detest
children and cobblestones."

" I wish I could photograph some of these old
houses," said Rosamund.

" They want a regiment of charwomen," said
Betty, who held her skirts very high.

" I should like to see the place by moonlight," said
her niece.

" The moon is full to-night," said Christian.

" But we shall not be up when it rises," said Betty.
" I have had enough already of a long, tiring, tire-

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some day. Perhaps to-morrow will be more agree-
able."

"What has made to-day tiresome?" inquired
Christian, as he walked back to the hotel beside her.
" Your behaviour this morning," she said promptly.
" What business had you to carry off my niece in full
view of the hotel? What do you suppose all the old
tabbies are saying about you by this time? "
" How can it matter what they say? "
" I told you to wait for the three o'clock train."
" You did nothing of the kind," said Christian
indignantly. " You told me to do as I liked, and
shut the door because you were in a draught. I
can't think what has happened to you this week.
Instead of being always in a good humour, you are
always in a bad one. Why couldn't you come to
Sakkingen with us ? "

Betty changed the subject, and during supper
made herself sufficiently agreeable. But when ten
o'clock came she vowed she could not keep her eyes
open another minute, and carried Rosamund off to
bed. The two ladies had small adjoining rooms on
the ground floor, and sleepy as Betty professed herself
to be, she went into Rosamund's room and sat down
on the sofa. It was the first time that the aunt and
the niece had been by themselves since the morning.
After supper, when they had all four gone to the
Laufenplatz to look at the rapids, Rosamund had
said she would like to see Gross Laufenburg from
the opposite bank, and Christian had straightway
taken her there across the wooden bridge. The girl
had come back from this stroll with her eyes shining,
but she did not know how her face betrayed her to
the older woman, or what anger and jealousy she
excited. She guessed, however, the moment her

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aunt sat down that she was in for a bad quarter of
an hour.

" I am glad that Mr. Dacre has come," said Betty.

Rosamund sat down on the only chair in the room.
She had been so happy that she did not feel ready for
the counterblast.

" I don't suppose he will stay long," she said.

" I wonder what he thought when he met you at
Sakkingen with Christian Witt? "

" He said nothing about it."

" I shall have to say something to him; otherwise
he will think your behaviour has my approval."

"But you did consent, didn't you? Herr Witt
ran upstairs to fetch you, and then he came down
alone and bundled me into the carriage, and said ..."

Betty put out her hands as if to check such a torrent
of words.

" You are not going to tell me you were unwilling
to go? " she said,

Rosamund flushed at the derision in her aunt's
tone.

" I thought . . ." she began.

" You don't think," interrupted Betty; " you act
on impulse. A man soon finds out when a girl has no
dignity of conduct, and then he amuses himself. It
was just the same after supper, when you said you
wanted to go across the bridge and Herr Witt offered
to take you. He was longing to sit still and smoke
and talk. That kind of thing makes a girl a bore."

" I don't believe he thought it a bore," said poor
Rosamund unwisely. " He would have stayed over
there longer, but I said you would expect me
back."

Betty shrugged her shoulders airily, and got up
to go.

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" Of course, he is an old hand/' she said, " on
to-day and off to-morrow. You'll find out before
you've done with him. You might as well set your
heart on the moon. But in future you must please
behave."

She nodded at Rosamund as if she had recovered
her usual indifferent good-humour, and went out of
the room. She had performed an unpleasant duty
effectively, and she said to herself that she had only
spoken the truth. Christian Witt was a notorious
heart-breaker, and Rosamund's name ought not to
be coupled with his, unless he meant to marry her.
Betty did not think this likely, but she was prepared
to make sure by the simple expedient of asking him.
If that did not cause Christian to ride away, Betty
said to herself, she did not know her man.

Meanwhile Rosamund sat by her open window,
and took no further step towards undressing. She
saw herself with Christian in the carriage, in the train,
in the sleepy streets of Sakkingen ; she saw the flash
of lightning that seemed, with its own swiftness, to
bring Dacre into her life again. Then a long, flat,
disappointing afternoon led at last to the evening,
when Christian had taken her across the old bridge
and drawn her arm through his because she stumbled
over a stone. Arm in arm they had walked together
under a sky that was moonlit, though the moon had
not risen yet. He had called her child, and told her
she must not go to England because he would miss
her. He had not declared himself her lover, but she
thought he might do so any day. It would be
terrible to go into exile before he spoke. She could
not feel sure that he would follow her, or that his love
was of a kind to surmount difficulties. She did not
know that he loved her at all. She only hoped it

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very innocently and ardently, and she wished, with all
the impatience of youth, that he would say so, to her
first and then to all the world.

She sat longer than she knew at her open window,
fretting and dreaming by turns. While she sat there
the moon came sailing into the sky; its pure light
filled the room, and Christian Witt, stealing close to
the window, saw her radiant figure in it. She heard
his approach, quiet as it was, and started at the
sound of his voice.

" Hush! " he said, " come out with me and see the
moonlight on the rapids. Your aunt is safe in bed,
I suppose? "

Rosamund looked at the full moon, and looked at
Christian Witt. His mischievous blue eyes were full
of fun rather than of sentiment, but he had thought
of her and come for her. Of course, it was not be-
having well to go with him, but the spirit that had
led her to eat Beate Rassmann's bread in a drawing-
lesson still lived in Rosamund, and occasionally broke
out. When people expected her to be naughty she
felt inclined to fulfil their expectations. Besides, the
next moment might bring the crisis of her life and
a happy ending to her troubles. The window was
hardly three feet from the ground. She got on to the
sill, and just as she was going to jump, Christian
lifted her gently to the ground. They stole away
together before they spoke.

" Of course, I ought not to have come," said Rosa-
mund.

" Why not? " said Christian.

" But it is so beautiful that I shall never forget it,"
said Rosamund, when they were standing together
on the Laufenplatz. The moonlit waters foamed
beneath them, and the twin towns were asleep. No

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sounds reached them except the thunder of the rapids
and the murmur of their own voices.

" I came out here after you went to bed, and when
the moon rose and turned the whole place silver I
thought I'd just see if you were up still."

" It was very kind of you," said Rosamund. She
was conscious of a slight sense of disappointment.
Christian's tone was friendly, but it was matter-of-
fact, and therefore out of tune with her mood and
with the silver, romantic hour.

" This great volume of water makes it chilly," said
Christian. "We mustn't stand here long."

" But after the heat and dust of the day the cool
air is delicious," said Rosamund. " It rests you, and
the night gives you time to think."

" You looked as if you had the world to think of
when I saw you sitting in the moonlight just now."

" Aunt Betty is angry with me. Sometimes . -J-. j
I almost think ... she is tired of me."

" Quite likely," said Christian. " She is as
changeable as a barometer."

" But I have no one else," said Rosamund, her
heart sinking with dismay.

;< You have Mr. Dacre . . . and many friends."

" I have no friends . . . only acquaintances. And
what is Mr. Dacre to me ? He cannot replace Aunt
Betty."

" Life will bring others," said Christian. " There
is plenty of time."

That was just what Rosamund could not believe.
Her lip trembled slightly, and she turned her face
from the man at her side and hung over the railing
guarding her from the waters.

" I don't want to go to England/' she said.

" I hope it will not be necessary," said Christian.

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" I could not be happy there."

"Why not?"

Rosamund stared at the torrent and did not speak.
How could she be happy in England when Christian
was in Germany ? and how could he ask her a ques-
tion that should have found an answer in his heart ?
She did not know that his eyes were gravely watching
her, and that his brows were gathered together in a
little frown of trouble and perplexity.

" Come," he said a moment later. " If your aunt
had a fancy to see the moon, and met us here, we
should get a scolding."

Rosamund walked with him in silence. When
silence grew oppressive Christian began to talk about
the constellations, for it was a night of stars. But
the girl's voice was lifeless as she answered him.

" You may as well get in at your window," said
Christian. " The front-door will be locked by this
time."

They arrived at the window as Christian spoke, and
they both stared at it in blank amazement. Some
one had shut it and drawn the blind. The light was
still burning inside the room.

xiv

" SAPERLOT! " said Christian, and he looked at the
window as Rosamund had seen him look at the
English girl who sang out of tune, with an expression
of despair that had a twinkle of amusement in it.

" Who can have done it ? " said Rosamund. " The
door was shut. Besides, the chambermaid ..."

" Which is your aunt's window? " said Christian.
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" It lies between rousing her and rousing the Haus-
knecht."

" Oh, don't let it be my aunt ! " said Rosamund.

She felt that it was really impossible to stand there
in the moonlight with Christian and invite her aunt
to rise from sleep and let them in.

"Come along, then," said Christian; "we must
brave the Hausknecht."

They had to ring twice before any one came ; but
Christian tipped the sleepy man they had disturbed,
and borrowed his light to take Rosamund to her
room. They trod as Softly as they could, and
Christian left her before she opened the door. She
could still hear his step in the corridor when she
turned the handle, and she uttered a little cry of
distress and surprise as she saw her aunt sitting there
with a lighted candle and a French novel on the
table in front of her. For a moment her courage
failed her either to go in or run away.

" Well," said Betty, " have you enjoyed your-
self? "

Rosamund shrank from the derision and dislike in
her aunt's manner, but she went a little further into
the room and shut the door.

" Why are you waiting up for me? " she asked.

Betty raised her eyebrows.

" I came in to tell you something about our arrange-
ments for to-morrow. I found you gone. What
was I to do — go to bed and never trouble whether
you came back or not ? "

" You might have known I should come back. I
have only been for a walk."

" By yourself? At this time of night ? "

" No," said Rosamund, assuming a courage she
was very far from feeling. " I went with Heir Witt.

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He saw me sitting at my window, and asked me to go
and see the moonlight on the rapids."

" How conveniently these things happen! "

" Why did you shut the window, Aunt Betty? "

" Because I felt cold."

It seemed to Rosamund that they had reached a
deadlock. She went to the glass and took off her
hat, and wondered whether she could say she was
sorry. She thought she could not. Rivalry in love
sweeps away differences in age and position; and
Rosamund understood that her aunt was angry with
her, not because she had gone out at night, but
because she had gone with Christian Witt. Yet the
girl knew she had laid herself open to reproof, and
she wondered what Dacre would say when he was
told of this escapade. Presently she heard a slight
rustle from the sofa, and turning round, she saw that
her aunt had shut her book and was about to go.

" Good-night," said Betty.

" Good-night," said Rosamund.

" I suppose I may trust you to keep your window
shut till to-morrow, or have you a fancy to go walking
again? "

" I am going straight to bed."

" Pleasant dreams," said Betty, and went out of
the room.

Next morning when Rosamund got up she had
hardly slept at all. She had been fretting over the
peril that threatened her relations with Christian,
threatened the indeterminate, delightful intimacy that
might still develop or might collapse at a rough
touch like a house of cards. She knew, of course,
that her anxiety was indecorous. Polite society
decrees that it is the man, and not the maid, who
should adore and feel uncertain of success. But

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Rosamund might as well have tried to change her
skin as her heart just then, the heart that beat for
Christian Witt, and thought a future without him
would be dust and ashes. She felt sure that her
aunt had not said the last word either to her or
to her fellow-sinner. Rosamund dressed early and
went into the Speise Saal, hoping that her lucky
star would bring Christian there before the others.

But Christian had been up and dressed earlier still.
He had gone out on the bridge for a breath of air,
and, to his surprise, Betty had joined him there, and
had proposed to get their morning coffee at the inn
on the other side instead of in their own hotel.

It seemed an unsociable plan, and he said so, but
Betty assured him that the others would not be up
yet.

" Mr. Dacre keeps English hours," she said. " He
probably considers half-past eight early. And Rosa-
mund was late last night, wasn't she ? "

" I suppose you shut the window? "

" Yes," said Betty, " I shut the window."

" Why did you do it ? We left it open on purpose.
You gave us the trouble of knocking up the Haus-
knecht."

" I am afraid that is not the only trouble that will
come of yesterday's doings," said Betty.

" What do you mean? "

" You seem to forget that my niece is a young
woman ... a marriageable young woman."

" She is a child," said Christian.

" Is that all you have to say? " inquired Betty.

" I have nothing to say. I never feel inclined
for conversation in the morning. One wants one's
coffee and a smoke. There is an inn with a little
garden. Will that do? Though why we should

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come over here and drink bad coffee when we are
sure of good in our own hotel . . ."

Betty perceived that for once even Christian could
be out of humour, but she was not astonished or dis-
turbed. She had a shrewd suspicion that his con-
science was not as easy as he made it out to be, and
that just suited her purpose. They sat down in the
little garden and had their breakfast served there.
The coffee and rolls were good. Betty talked of
indifferent trifles, and Christian felt happier, and was
lighting his cigar, when she ruffled him again.

" Well? " she said, and she pulled back her chair
a little so that she could have a better view of
him.

" Do you want to go ? " he said, offering to get up.
But that manoeuvre did not help him.

" I want to stay here and talk to you," she said.
" I want to know what you mean to do about
Rosamund."

" Need I do anything ? We are all very happy as
we are." ,

11 You mean you are happy. I am not, because I
am full of anxiety about my niece. As for the girl
herself, she is living in a fool's paradise. Of course,
she believes you mean to marry her."

" I should be sorry for that," said Christian.

His conscience pricked him, for he had suspected
lately how things were with Rosamund, and since
last night he had felt sure. The discovery had not
weighed on his mind much, because all the year round
women were losing their hearts to him, and, so far as
he knew, were little the worse for it. His absurd
experiences had led him to take love in real life for
a trivial passion lightly come and lightly gone. It
was only in music that he could understand love's

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tragedy. But Rosamund was a charming child, and
he would not for the world have given her pain.

" All through the spring and summer you have
singled out the girl," said Betty. " You have
haunted my house."

" Not more than before."

" My niece was not there before. Every one in
Fichtenstadt was talking of your infatuation and
wondering what you saw in her. You have been her
only admirer."

" I am not her admirer in your sense of the word,"
said Christian. " I have never said a word to the
child any one might not hear."

" I am not a court of law or a fool," said Betty.
" Half the love and half the mischief made in the
world is made without words. Why did you follow
her when I took her away? "

" What will you say next? It was always under-
stood that I should meet you at Obermatt. Didn't I
come to Axenstein last year, and to Ostend the year
before?"

" My niece was not with me then," said Betty
calmly. "This year she is, and you have devoted
yourself to her instead of me. The whole hotel saw
you drive off together yesterday. Fraulein Plotz
was quite excited about it. Mr. Dacre found you
together at Sakkingen. I have not told him yet that
she gets out of her bedroom window by night to go
for walks with you. No doubt he would send her to
England at once ; but what would he think of her? "

Christian pushed his chair back roughly, muttered
something rude and inarticulate about women all
the world over, and beckoned to the waitress, who
stood a little way off. While he paid, Betty put on
her gloves, and looked urbanely at the landscape.

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" The best thing I can do is to go away,"
growled Christian when they were by themselves
again.

" It comes to that," said Betty, " unless you mean
to get married."

" Such an idea has never entered my head."

" I was afraid not. Poor little Rose thing! But
she will soon get over it."

" Do you think she will ? " said Christian, trying to
feel as gratified as he ought.

' ' Oh dear, yes ! " said Betty briskly. " A girl of that
age is like a puppy feeling its teeth . . . anything
serves its purpose. If you take away your boot it
turns its attention to a chair leg."

" Then I wonder you felt so anxious about her,"
said Christian.

" I am not at all anxious now that you are going
away," said Betty. " But people are so meddling
and ill-natured. You know it doesn't do to have a
girl talked about."

" Of course not," said Christian with vehemence.
" I am very fond of the child. I would not hurt her
in any way for the world. But I hope she won't
misunderstand my going off so suddenly."

" After all, you mean her to understand that you
are not going to marry her," said Betty.

Christian got up from his chair as if Betty was a
wasp and stung him, but he had nothing to say.
He marched across the wooden bridge beside her
without speaking or even looking her way. When
they got back to the hotel they found Rosamund and
Dacre at breakfast, and they sat down at the same
table and explained where they had been. Rosamund
looked anxiously at Christian, and wondered what her
aunt had said to him. He was silent and preoccu-

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pied, and he avoided her eyes. She turned suddenly
to Dacre.

" Do you know what I did last night ? " she said.

" Do you mean after you bid me good-night, or
before? " he asked.

" Oh, long after! I got out of my window . . ."

Dacre put down his cup and looked at Rosamund
with the horror and amazement expected of him.
But she saw an encouraging twinkle in his eye.

" You'll have to go to school again," he said.

" And I walked about in the moonlight with Herr
Witt, and we looked at the rapids. As you are my
guardian, I thought you ought to know."

" I should think so, indeed, and, as your guardian,
I'm scandalised."

" Rosamund has never done such a thing before,"
said Betty. " She usually has some sense of pro-
priety."

" I never slept in a ground-floor room before," said
Rosamund.

"It is the window that makes your behaviour so
shocking," said Dacre, as he buttered his roll. " If
you had said you wanted to see the moonlight, and
had just walked out of a door with Herr Witt or me
. . . even if it had been a back-door ..."

He was suddenly checked by Christian Witt, who,
to his surprise, seized his hand and shook it with
great cordiality.

" I hope we shall meet again," said the musician.
" You seem to be a sensible man. I liked you the
first time I spoke to you ... at the Freemasons'
Ball. Do you remember? "

"Perfectly," said Dacre, his amused glance en-
countering Rosamund's, and reminding her of her
own adventures at the Freemasons' Ball.

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"Well, good-bye," said Christian, getting up
suddenly. " If I am to reach St. Blasien to-night,
I must make a start. I'm not a quick walker. I
hope we shall meet in Fichtenstadt, Mr. Dacre. Auf
Wiedersehen, Frau Doctor."

Rosamund was in the act of lifting her cup to her lips,
and the start of surprise she could not quite restrain
spilt a few drops of coffee on her pretty gown. She
did not drink. She set down the cup as quickly as
she could and looked at Christian.

" I have said Auf Wiedersehen to your aunt,"
said Christian, " but what am I to say to you ? Is it
to be good-bye? "

" Why should it be? " said Rosamund.

" If you go to England ? If you are to live in
England?"

Rosamund drew herself up, and as far as she could
make it so, her face was expressionless. She behaved
very well, but the sudden shock affected her voice as
a sudden wind affects a little flame. All life, all glow,
had gone out of it.

" Good-bye, then," she said.

XV

IT was afternoon at Obermatt. The long mid-day
dinner was over, and the long siesta of recovery that
followed it. Betty's eyes looked as fresh as her toilet
when she appeared on the terrace again, and went
up to Dacre, who was sitting by himself. He rose as
she approached, and offered her a chair, but she did
not take it.

" I'm going for a stroll in the forest," she said.

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"Then I'll come too," said Dacre, keeping at her
side. " But where is Rosamund ? "

" I have not seen her since dinner. She told me
she had a headache and meant to lie down."

" I thought there must be something the matter
with her," said Dacre, relieved to hear that the girl's
silence and look of misery had a physical cause.

" She has dreadful headaches sometimes. This
path leads to a seat with a pleasant view."

"Wouldn't it do Rosamund good to come with
us?"

" No," said Betty. " When she has this kind of
headache she likes to be left alone."

Dacre understood corals better than he did women.
Betty he did not understand at all. He found it diffi-
cult to reconcile the Professor's dislike and distrust
of her with his own impressions of an adroit woman,
with a refreshing gleam of irony in her eyes. She
walked as daintily as a cat. She was a contrast to
most of her countrywomen, because from her hat
to her shoes she was invariably well groomed, and
when she chose she had amiable manners. In short,
when Dacre was with Betty she entertained him, and
when they were not together he had his doubts of her.

" I have appointed a fresh trustee in the place of
Dr. Arden," he began, when they had found the seat
with the view. They had it to themselves, and the
hour and the place seemed to encourage the discussion
of business.

" You didn't think of appointing me? " said Betty.

" No. I went straight to Herr Richter ... at
least, I wrote to him."

Betty laughed lightly, and caught at the ends of
her long feather stole that fluttered in the breeze.

" He can't offer Rosamund a home," she said.
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" Her money affairs are simple enough. What she
wants just now is a home."

Dacre felt surprised, almost disconcerted. He had
come to Germany to separate two women who
wished to remain together, and the last thing he
expected was to be met half-way. The mental effect
was rather like finding level ground where you have
looked for a step.

" Of course, the Professor meant her to find a
home with her uncle," he said.

" The Professor was an idiot! " said Betty.

Dacre watched Betty's fluttering feathers flying
out in front of her, and she watched his dark, strong
face with a look of amusement on her own.

" You don't know what to do with the girl, do
you?" she said cheerfully. "Her father should
have left her in my care, then it would have been
my duty to look after her. Now it is my duty to let
her go. I have never known a greater idiot than the
Professor. He couldn't bear me."

" Why not?" said Dacre, thinking the lady's
explanation might be illuminating. But it was
not.

"Why doesn't a terrier like a cat? " she asked.
" You can't reason about a prejudice. If I had been
a saint Ulrich would have thought me a sinner. As a
matter of fact, I'm like most people, neither one nor
the other. I should need to be a saint to forgive the
slight put on me. The whole town knows I was
passed over for you. And what has come of my
clever brother-in-law's arrangement ? Here is Rosa-
mund at nineteen with about as much sense and
savoir vivre as a child in the nursery . . . and here
are you, a young unmarried man and a foreigner,
with the control of her affairs. It is downright

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crazy. . . . There isn't a woman in the empire who
would have shown as little practical insight."

" Professor Elsler wished his daughter to live in
England," said Dacre. " You seem to forget that
he was taken by surprise. He had no time to consult
with Dr. Arden and find out what he could do for
Rosamund."

"Well, what are you going to do? " said Betty.
" How do you propose to get her to England ? I
should like to hear what your plans are for her."

" I must talk to Rosamund before I can tell you."

" Then you had better talk to her soon. I have
found it inconvenient to have my only spare room
occupied for six months."

Dacre was considerably taken aback by the lady's
hurry and by her businesslike tone.

" I thought you had offered Rosamund a home for
life," he said. " I thought that you were devoted
to each other."

Betty fixed her bright blue eyes on him, and he
saw no compunction in them.

" Sou vent femme varie, Folle qui s'y fie!" she
cried; and she vouchsafed no further explanation
just then. " I'm going to find Rosamund," she
added, laughing openly now at his grave face. " If
her head is better, I'll send her to talk to you."

She did not wait for his answer, but picked up her
skirts and walked briskly back to the hotel. On her
way she met Major Vollmar and Herr Liibeck, who
complained bitterly of her two days' desertion of them.
She restored their spirits without delaying her own
progress for a moment, and, with one on either side of
her, arrived on the terrace, where at this hour of the
afternoon a good many people were assembled. But
Rosamund was nowhere to be seen, and when Betty

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had pacified her companions by promising to return
shortly and drink coffee in their society, she smiled
at them gaily and went to look for her niece in the
hotel.

" Eine schneidige Frau," said the Major, watching
her trim figure across the veranda.

" Eine reizende Frau," said Herr Liibeck, for they
were both quite overcome by Betty's charms, and
thought seriously of marriage.

Dacre's sudden appearance disturbed them. ' ' What
has he come for? " they asked each other, driven into
friendliness by the unexpected advent of a rival.

"He is not my idea of a handsome man," said
Herr Liibeck, taking out his pocket mirror and
looking at his own florid attractions with complacency.

" Some women might consider him so," said the
Major, who was dark and spare himself, and privately
thought Hen* Liibeck vulgar.

Meanwhile, Betty had knocked at Rosamund's
door and gained admittance. The girl sat drooping
in one corner of the sofa, and she had been crying.
She had not changed her gown or touched her hair
since dinner, and when the door opened she looked up
wearily, as if she wished she might have been left
alone. But Betty sat down in the other corner of
the sofa, and as she did so she observed some faded
roses on the table in front of her niece.

" Why don't you throw them away? " she said.
" I hate the sight of dead flowers."

There was a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she
spoke, and she put out her hand towards the flowers.
But Rosamund intercepted her.

" I want them," she said.

"You want dead flowers? What an odd taste!
Why not a little stale fish or fruit to keep with them ?

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Where do they come from? Surely they are the
roses Christian gave you yesterday morning. The
heat has killed them."

Rosamund did not speak. She wished she had
hidden her flowers before her aunt took her by
surprise.

1 ' Why have you shut yourself up here ? " continued
Betty. " Is there anything wrong — toothache or
headache?"

" I am coming down now that it is cooler."

" You want a brush-up. In fact, you ought to
change your gown. That coffee-stain shows on the
front breadth. How did you manage that spill? I
saw you jump when Christian said he was not coming
back with us. Now, if you had put faith in me, you
would have expected something of the sort. I told
you he was like artists the world over . . . here
one day, off the next. Those charmers are always
fickle."

" This room is very close," said Rosamund, getting
up and going towards the open window. " I'll
come out of doors now."

But on the way from the window she passed a
mirror and caught sight of her tear-stained face and
dishevelled hair. She had not known that she looked
like this.

" Put on your black voile," said Betty decisively.
"•It suits you. You must be quick, because Mr.
Dacre is waiting. I promised to send you to him."

"Why?"

Betty was slowly stroking her chin with the soft
ends of her feather boa, and she watched her niece
reflectively.

" You see, I've been talking to him out there," she
said. " He is on the seat in the forest with a view of

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the Alps, the one you and Christian used to take.
We have been discussing your future."

" What was there to discuss ? "

" Mr. Dacre must tell you. By your father's will
I have no jurisdiction over your affairs, and in my
opinion we have disregarded his will long enough.
At first I felt so sorry for you that I did not think
of him. But now I consider that the time has come
for a fresh start."

Rosamund had not stirred yet to brush her hair or
change her gown. For weeks past she had suspected
that her aunt wanted to be rid of her, but weeks of
vague suspicion had not done much, it seemed, to
lessen the shock. She stared at Betty with wide
eyes that threatened tears, and, with a childish
gesture, she put one hand to her throat as if to
restrain the sobs rising there.

" Am I to leave Fichtenstadt? " she murmured.

" I suppose so," said Betty. " Anyhow, you are
to leave me."

" But Mr. Dacre has the decision in his own hands.
If we can persuade him to let me stay ..."

" I have not tried to persuade him."

" Do you want me to go, then, Aunt Betty? "

" I want the spare room for other people some-
times. But that is not the main thing. Fichtenstadt
is the worst place in the world for you just now,
because of Christian Witt. The less you see of him
for a time the better."

The colour flamed in Rosamund's cheeks, and
she looked swiftly down.

" I asked him this morning if he meant to marry
you," continued Betty, still caressing her chin with
her feathers, and speaking in a matter-of-fact but
pensive tone.

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But the girl sprang to her feet with a cry of rage
and humiliation.

" After last night I considered it my duty/' said
Betty. " Some one had to point out his to him.
But he has no idea of marrying any one at present.
He likes you well enough, but he regards you as a

child."

1 'You had no right!" stammered Rosamund—
" you had no right! What can he think of me? I
can never face him again."

" My dear child, you have made your own inten-
tions sufficiently clear lately to him and to every one
else. It was quite time to discover his. I'm sorry
the result is not satisfactory, but anything is better
for a girl than a long entanglement with some man
who does not mean marriage. I dare say you feel
annoyed with me now, but some day you will see
the wisdom of what I have done and bless me."

" I will never forgive you," said Rosamund.

She had drawn herself up to her full height, and in
spite of her rough hair and her tear-stained cheeks,
she looked less of a child than usual. Her eyes were
dark with wrath as she hastily pinned on her hat
before a mirror, dabbed at her face with a wet sponge,
and, taking no further thought for her appearance or
notice of her aunt, went out of the room. Betty
waited until she no longer heard the girl's step in the
corridor, then she yawned, then she took out a pocket
powder-puff and applied it in front of the mirror.

" You have been a long time," said the Major,
when she appeared on the terrace. " Your coffee
must be cold."

" What has become of my niece, I wonder? " she
said. " Have you seen her about ? "

"She passed a moment ago. She passed very
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quickly in that direction. But she will not find her
friend there to-day."

" She will find Mr. Dacre," said Betty. " He is an
older friend."

" Herr Witt did not bid us good-bye," said Herr
Liibeck, who was rather inquisitive. " I made^sure
that he would return with you to-day. Hasn't he
left some luggage here ? I seem to remember a big
portmanteau."

" It was rather sudden," said Betty, wit her
baffling smile. She drank a little coffee, and then she
added: " The Grand Duke is devoted to Herr Witt.
He often sends for him when he is out of spirits or
harassed by affairs of State. He is Saul, you know,
and Herr Witt is David and plays to him."

" Indeed," said Herr Liibeck, with ponderous
respect and attention. He had told Betty only the
day before that he was helping to form a philhar-
monic society in his own small town, and that he
wanted a good conductor for six winter concerts.
The small town was within an hour's journey of
Fichtenstadt.

" The Grand Duke says that Christian Witt will be
one of the greatest conductors in Germany," con-
tinued Betty. " In Fichtenstadt we live in dread
of losing him to Bertholdsruhe."

" Is he with the Grand Duke now? " asked the
Major.

" When he receives one of these sudden royal calls
he never tells us till afterwards," said Betty. " He
just vanishes."

" But what will happen to his portmanteau ? said
Herr Liibeck. " I am sure there was a portmanteau.
Shall I speak to the manager about it? "
" I did that directly I arrived," said Betty.
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will be sent to his Fichtenstadt address to-
morrow."

" I wonder if he had his evening clothes here? "
said Herr Liibeck. " I don't see how he could appear
before the Grand Duke without them."

" I can relieve you on that score too," said Betty.
" He had left his evening clothes in Fichtenstadt."

m r'm^

XVI

ROSAMUND'S world had gone to pieces, and she be-
lieved there was no help for her anywhere. She felt
sore, forlorn, and broken-hearted. She could not
think of any fate in history or romance as sad and
humiliating as her own. Unhappy love has dignity
and pathos. You bear it or you die. Love thwarted,
love unreturned, love set too high, every form and
issue of love unsatisfied, has its own place in love's
tragedy and its own beauty. But to hear that the
idol of your heart " likes you well enough, but does
not mean to marry yet "; to see him stampede at the
first meddlesome word; to receive his hurried adieux
before an audience — these were offences no heroine
known to Rosamund had ever been asked to endure or
could conceivably survive. She believed that her love
had turned in a flash to hatred, and her ardent desire
was to meet Christian as soon as might be, and show
him how little she cared. Her aunt she wished she
need never see again.

As she hurried towards Dacre she wondered how she
could best acquaint him with this new and distressing
state of her affairs ; how, in fact, she could tell him

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her story without speaking of the disappointing man
on whom the story turned. For, child as she was,
Rosamund had a shrewd suspicion of the truth. Her
aunt's spare room would still be at her disposal if
Christian had not made more of the niece than of the
aunt of late. This element of rivalry only fixed her
desire to have done with both. She could not stoop
to a struggle for a man's affections. Besides, she no
longer coveted Christian's love. Since he did not
care for her, she vowed she would not care for him.
Of course, her heart ached, but pride kept her
head in the air. As Dacre rose to meet her he saw
that her face was tense with anger. So was her voice
and her slim, upright figure.

" Aunt Betty said you wanted me," she began.

" I hope it was convenient to you to come," he said
urbanely.

Rosamund had hurried to him as a child who has
been hurt hurries home. She knew he would help
her if he could.

" I want to go away from here at once," she said.
" I want to get away from Aunt Betty."

" Why, Rosamund ..." exclaimed Dacre, taken
by surprise. " I thought that you were devoted to
your aunt."

" Aunt Betty is very changeable. She seems to
dislike me now. She has just told me she wants her
spare room for other people. If I could, I would
leave her this afternoon. But I don't know where
to go. Where can I go, Mr. Dacre? "

" I don't think you can go anywhere this after-
noon ... by yourself . . . you know."

"But I must live somewhere . . . and as it
happens, I am by myself now that I am given up by
Aunt Betty. I am not going back to Fichtenstadt.

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At least, I should like to go there at once for
about a week, and then I want to leave it for
ever."

" I admit that you always know your own mind,"
said Dacre dryly, " but your mind changes. Last
time I saw you, you were as determined to stay with
your aunt as you are now to leave her."

"It is Aunt Betty who changes. Would you live
another hour with some one who said openly she did
not want you? "

" There can be no question of your leaving your
aunt till we know what you are to do next, and that
cannot be settled in an hour," said Dacre.

" Who is going to settle it? "

" I suppose I am . . . with your help."

Dacre was sitting back in one corner of the bench,
and Rosamund sat with her face turned towards him.
The burning anger in it was dying away already; her
pretty mouth was set less rigidly, her voice had tears
in it.

"What shall I do? " she said. " I want to get
away. Shall I go to the Dorotheenstift ? "

" Oh no," said Dacre.

She looked up, rather startled by the decision with
which he spoke, and hardly knowing whether she felt
more inclined to resent his tone of authority or see
in it a refuge from her loneliness. She thought he
seemed in an uncertain mood, as if he had an idea in
his mind that he found it hard to express.

"Where are you going to live in future?" she
asked.

"At home ... at Ormathwaite."

" Does your sister live there now? "

"When she is at home; but she is often away.
Otherwise there would have been no difficulty at all.

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You should have come straight to us for as long as
you pleased."

" Oh," said Rosamund, her face kindling at the
bare thought of such a solution, " I wish it had been
possible. I did not like to say so, but I wish I could
be somewhere within reach of you. At first, if I go
to England, everything . . . every one will be so
strange."

"Will you come to me, then?" said Dacre.
" Your father wished it ... and ever since you were
a child I have wished it. But you are such a child
still that I meant to wait a little. I am not sure that
I ought to speak yet . . . but if you are lonely and
unhappy ... if you think you could be happy with
me ... as my wife . . ."

The man was deeply moved. The girl was taken
by surprise and covered with sudden confusion.
Her first impulse was to edge away; she stared as
if she could hardly believe her ears, and then she
looked down, because Dacre 's eyes said more than
his words, and they troubled her.

" Why do you say my father wished it ? " she asked
as soon as she could speak.

" Because he told me so."

Rosamund's mind was in a whirl. She tried to
see all the issues of either course open to her. What
would happen if she assented to Dacre's proposal?
What would happen if she denied him? It never
occurred to her to ask for time. Her thoughts
flashed to and fro between yesterday and the morrow.
Should she face the future as the Englishman's
betrothed ? Should she face it alone ? The thought
of her aunt's astonishment if she chose the first
alternative encouraged her. So did the promise of
startling Christian Witt. Then she tried to consider

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Dacre's point of view. She knew that it was not
right for a girl to accept a man from motives of
pique, and she wanted to do what was right. As
she had successfully hardened her heart against
Christian, she did not think she need say much
about him. She really did not know what to say.

" Perhaps I ought not to have spoken yet, " said
Dacre anxiously. " Never mind, Rosamund ; ' forget
what I have said if it only troubles you. Perhaps
some day later . . ."

" It is not exactly about myself that I am troubled "
said Rosamund. " I. think I know my own mind.
The moment you mentioned the possibility of my
living with you and your sister I could have jumped
for joy. But, of course, it never entered my head
that you would ask me to come in this way. I
should as soon have thought of marrying the man in
the moon as you."

"I am a good deal older than you . . ." began
Dacre, hardly knowing whether to feel dejected or
encouraged.

^Years older and worlds wiser. What troubles
me," she finished with a schoolgirl's inelegance of
speech—" what troubles me is to see what you would
get out of it."

" I don't think that need trouble you," said Dacre.
Rosamund looked at him pensively, and Dacre
thought her eyes were like moonstones in the sun-
light.

" Suppose you repented it ? " she said. " I should
have spoiled your life just to secure my own com-
fort . . . because I am not . . ."

' You are not in love with me ? " suggested Dacre,
when he had waited some time for the end of her
sentence. " Are you in love with any one else ? "

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" Certainly not," said Rosamund fiercely. " I
may have been, but I have changed my mind."

" I rather feared, from what I observed yesterday,
that I was too late. Mr. Christian Witt . . ."

" Oh, every one has to be in love with Christian
Witt, and he with them. He doesn't count. I
don't suppose that I shall ever see him again. I
hope not."

" I can't let you knock about the world by your-
self," said Dacre, speaking from his own half-settled
mind. " You would have to live amongst strangers.
I know no one near us who would take you. If I
left you in Fichtenstadt . . ."

" I won't stay in Fichtenstadt! " exclaimed Rosa-
mund. " At least ... I mean ... I most par-
ticularly don't want to."

" Then I think you had better come to Ormath-
waite."

Rosamund stared across the plain towards the
high Alps.

"Very well," she said. "Come and tell Aunt
Betty. I am simply longing to tell Aunt Betty.
I only wish we could start this afternoon."

" Wait a minute," said Dacre, half vexed, half
laughing. "Sit down again, Rosamund. Would
you really like to be married quite soon ? "

" I don't, want to be married at all," said she.
" But I want to go to Ormathwaite with you as soon
as possible."

" Then I think you had better make up your mind
to be married as soon as possible."

" If I must, I must," said Rosamund.

It was not quite all Dacre could have wished his
future wife to say, but he had made up his mind to
play a waiting game. He was half amused, half

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vexed again to observe in her now an air of fearful
expectation, a poise for flight, and just not enough
courage to take it. Evidently she thought his next
move would necessarily seal their betrothal in the
traditional way with his lips on hers, and the prospect
scared her. It hardly cost him a pang to refrain.

" Come, then," he said, getting up. She looked
unmistakably relieved, and began to talk to him as
they returned to the hotel together.

" I don't mind now if I do go back to Fichtenstadt
for a time," she said. " Aunt Betty must put up
with me."

" Here she comes," said Dacre, and they both
saw Betty approaching. For a wonder, she was by
herself.

" The Alpine glow is wonderful to-night," said
Betty, looking curiously at her niece's face, which
was tense with suppressed excitement. " Have
you been watching it ? "

" I am afraid not," said Dacre; "we have been
talking."

" I told Mr. Dacre that I wished to leave Fichten-
stadt," said Rosamund.

" There is no hurry," said Betty. " But of course,
your father's commands were that you should live in
England."

" I am going there," said Rosamund.

" As my wife," said Dacre.

The two women exchanged rapid glances. Then
Betty turned a beaming face to the Englishman,
while Rosamund stood by pale and silent, and less
triumphant than she had thought to be.

" What a delightful and surprising piece of news! "
said Betty. " I am sure it is exactly what poor dear
Ulrich would have wished. Perhaps he foresaw it

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when he put Rosamund's affairs in your hands.
Shall we lose my niece altogether, Mr. Dacre, or are
you going to be a great deal in Fichtenstadt ? "

" I am afraid you will lose her altogether," said
Dacre. " I shall live in England in future."

Betty turned to her niece, gave her a benedictory
kiss, asked her to run on with a message to the hotel,
and, when the girl was gone, invited Dacre to sit
down for a moment. There was a bench close by.

" It is an odd situation," she said. " Legally it is
you who are Rosamund's guardian; but as you
propose to marry her, it falls to me to ask certain
questions. I know nothing of your circumstances.
Can you maintain my niece comfortably? "

" Yes," said Dacre.

" Are you well off, then? "

" I am very well off."

Betty looked at him curiously, and wondered why
Rosamund attracted him. She admired the quiet
strength of his face herself, but she had never found
him an easy man to get on with.

" Have you parents or sisters and brothers? "

" I have one sister."

"Married?"

" No."

Before Betty could ask any more questions Rosa-
mund reappeared, having found some one directly
to whom she could give her aunt's message. She
brought the evening letters back with her. There
was only one for Dacre, and as he read it he uttered
an exclamation of annoyance.

" That's awkward," he said.

" What's the matter? " said Betty.

" I shall have to run across again ... to New
York. A man I must see, and who was to be in

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London next month, can't come. A fortnight over
there will do, but I'm afraid it's more than a month's
job altogether."

" When must you start ? "

" The sooner the better."

" Yes," said Rosamund, " the sooner the better,
because the longer you are away the longer I must be
in Fichtenstadt."

" What has Fichtenstadt done to you that you are
so anxious to leave it ? " said Betty.

" It has cast me out."

" I should like the engagement announced and the
preparations for our marriage put in hand at once,"
said Dacre. "Do you consent to that, Rosamund?"

" Yes," she said, avoiding her aunt's eyes.

" Then we can be married soon after I get back —
five or six weeks from to-day, perhaps."

" But all the while you are engaged you will be
separated," complained Betty. " And you both
take it so coolly. Where is your romance? "

" I am very sorry about it," said Dacre, " but
I must go. If Rosamund would like to put off
things . . ."

" I would rather hurry them on," said Rosamund.

" My dear child, you are not flattering to your old
friends, are you? Besides, you are missing a great
deal. The weeks between a girl's betrothal and
her marriage ought to be the happiest and gayest in
her life. We shall all wish to rally round you with
flowers and feasts . . . and music ..."

Rosamund sprang to her feet.

" I am going in to write some letters," she said.

" Very well," said Betty; " I will come with you,
and I hope your manners will be less jerky when
Mr. Dacre returns. I am afraid he will have a great

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deal to teach his wife in that way. Am I really to
send out the invitations, then, and to have Rosa-
mund's clothes ready? "

" If you please," said Dacre; and then the supper-
bell rang loudly from the hotel and summoned them
indoors.

" Are you going to write to Christian Witt, or
shall I ? " said Betty, when she was alone with her
niece after supper.

" Why should either of us write? "

" To tell him your news. He will be as much
pleased and surprised as I was."

" I am in no hurry to please and surprise him," said
Rosamund.

" I am sure he will agree with me that you are a
lucky girl, and a sensible one too. I hardly gave you
credit for the sense you have shown in accepting
Mr. Dacre. But you should not let him see that you
are in such a hurry. He might suspect something."

"What is there to suspect?" cried Rosamund
wrathfully.

But her aunt only laughed and turned away.
Betty felt tired but content. Fate was shaping the
future to her wishes, and from early morning she had
been busy giving fate a jog in the right direction.

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XVII

DACRE left Obermatt next day, but Betty and
Rosamund stayed another week there. A diamond
ring that Rosamund thought pretty and Betty
valuable had come from London, and Rosamund
wore it in the English fashion on the third finger of
her left hand. It pleased her to reflect that Christian
would soon see it there. She did not know whether
her aunt had written to him, and she would not ask.
His name never passed her lips now. Sometimes
her heart ached when she thought of him ; sometimes
her anger was consuming. But as the days went
by her anger waned, and she began to ask herself
whether it had much justification. Her aunt had
meddled and driven him away ; her aunt had betrayed
her.

The ladies travelled back to Fichtenstadt early in
September, and the very morning after their arrival
Rosamund went to a music shop in the Kaiser Strasse
with a message from Betty about the piano. As she
was delivering it, Christian Witt walked into the
shop from an inner room, and when he saw Rosamund
he stopped to speak to her. She could not interpret
his manner. It was easy and amiable, and he said
he was coming shortly to pay his respects to her aunt.

" She will be very glad to see you," said Rosamund,
trying to read in the musician's face what she missed
in his manner: his knowledge of her betrothal and
his opinion of it.

" I want to talk to her about a new music-teacher
for you," he said. "I'm giving up most of my private

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lessons, I am so busy with other things. I believe
Fraulein Schlosser would take you."

He did not know then. He was planning to give
her up as a pupil and to pass her on to that dull
old Fraulein Schlosser, whom Rosamund knew and
disliked.

" It is very kind of you to trouble about my music,"
she said, " but I am leaving Fichtenstadt."

" Leaving Fichtenstadt?"

Christian stared in astonishment.

" I thought my aunt had written to you from
Obermatt."

" I have not heard a word of either your aunt or
you since we parted at Gross Laufenburg. Where
are you going? "

" To England."

" Oh, to England. I suppose that is your guardian 's
doing?"

" Yes, I am going with him."

"For long?"

" We are to be married the first week in October,"
said Rosamund.

She smiled bravely as she made her announcement,
but her courage only just lasted out. Christian's
voice and presence made their old magic directly they
were together again. When she told him she was
about to marry another man the words seemed to
leave her spirit in ashes instead of triumphant; and
when, instead of speaking, he looked at her, half
sorry, half surprised, even a little ashamed, she
thought, she turned away and ran out of the shop.
He had not uttered one word of congratulation, or
shown any personal disappointment — in fact, if his
manner showed pity, it was for her and not for him-
self. She did not tell her aunt she had seen him, and

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he did not mention their encounter when he called
next day, and was told by Betty of Rosamund's
approaching marriage.

" You see, it has come all right," said Betty. " A
girl of that age attaches herself to any one."

" So it seems," said Christian doubtfully. " I hope
the child will be happy."

" She ought to be; it is a very good match for her."

" People are not happy because they ought to be,"
said Christian; but when Rosamund came into the
room he congratulated her.

She did not see much of him during the next few
weeks, and she guessed that he avoided the house
and her society. When they met he still seemed to
regard her as a beloved child, but he did not show
his regard quite so freely as before. He had accepted
her aunt's invitation to the wedding, which, on
account of the bride's mourning, was to be a quiet
one. Rosamund's dreams and wishes all went
towards him still. Dacre generally was out of mind
as well as out of sight. Betty took good care that
her niece's days were occupied, and that she was too
tired at night to lie awake. She insisted that Rosa-
mund must learn the whole art of housekeeping in a
month from herself, from her maid, and at. a school
of cookery. What with the pursuit of these affairs,
the business of her trousseau, and invitations from
congratulating friends, the girl had no breathing-
time. Sheer physical fatigue blunted her sensations,
and if once in a while she thought of her marriage
with a pang, her next thought was that she had no
alternative. The preparations were nearly complete;
the bridegroom was coming; day after day was
crowded. As for Betty, she was sweet as sugar.
Like most women, she enjoyed ordering clothes, even

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though they were not for herself; and she went about
her business with the conviction that she had made
the match, and had acted prudently both for Rosa-
mund and herself. She wanted to be rid of her niece,
but she felt quite pleased that her niece was making
a good marriage.

One or two letters had come to Rosamund from
Dacre, and she had read them with mingled satis-
faction and amazement. " Any one might read
them," she said to herself; " any one might have
written them." They told her about his journey,
about his future movements, and about the weather.
Goethe's ninth Sonnet was her idea of a love-letter:

" Weil ich nicht kommen kann soil was ich sende
Mein ungetheiltes Herz hinuber tragen
Mit Wonnen, Hoffnungen, Entzucken, Plagen :
Das alles hat nicht Anfang, hat nicht Ende."

But she never for a moment wished Dacre to write
to her in such a strain, for how could she have
responded? He wrote about storms and fellow-
travellers; she wrote about the day's doings, and
never once about the day's dreams. On the last day
of September, when a telegram came to say he would
arrive to-morrow night, it was as personal and affec-
tionate as their letters. She supposed they were to
spend life so, always interested in the weather and
shutting their eyes to the temperamental atmosphere
that affects imaginative natures so much more than
climate. It was a simplification of life she felt ready
to accept. Yet when the morrow came and the hour
of his arrival her heart failed her. As he walked into
the room the sudden fact of his presence upset her
calm as a touch upsets a house of cards, and during
the few days between his arrival and their marriage
she never recovered it.

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Dacre did not know what to make of her mood.
He tried to recall the demeanour of other girls in her
position, but his experience did not serve him. He
had studied water-beetles, but he had not studied
brides. Betty assured him that Rosamund was only
nervous and bewildered like most girls on the eve of
marriage, and she took care that he and her niece
were hardly ever by themselves. Dacre did not feel
satisfied, but he was as busy from morning till night
as the two ladies were ; for besides the social engage-
ments pressing on him, he still had business matters
to arrange both in connection with Professor Elsler's
work and with his money. On the day before his
marriage, however, he went out with Rosamund to
meet his sister on her arrival, and before going to the
station they sat down together in a quiet corner of
the Stadt Park. Rosamund took this opportunity to
ask for her mother's ornaments again, and to remind
Dacre that she wished to give some to her aunt.

" Very well," he said, after a little hesitation, " I
will get them for you first thing to-morrow from the
bank."

" Then, may I give Aunt Betty the two things she
wants, the ring and the diamond comb ? "

11 If it makes you happy to do so."

" When I asked you before you would not
allow it."

" Their value was of importance to you then."

Rosamund seemed to reflect on this reply, and then
she began to speak rather hurriedly and with her eyes
averted from his.

" Every one thinks I am so lucky to marry you
because you have money," she said; " the people with
gross manners say so outright, the others manage to
show it. I want to tell you that I have never thought

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about that side. I never understand or care much
about money. I have been used to such a bleak,
plain life at the Dorotheenstift. If you would have
let me I would have gone back there.'*

" It was not necessary to tell me this," said Dacre;
" I knew it."

He spoke with generous conviction, while Rosa-
mund scanned his face, trying to find encouragement
there for still further daring. The words were almost
on her lips. At the eleventh hour should they give
up the uncertain adventure of their marriage?
Should she return to the Dorotheenstift until she
knew her mind more plainly ?

" Joan arrives at five," said Dacre, getting up.
" We have only just time to get to the station."

Rosamund got up too, and walked beside him.
When they came to the station and the train came
in she waited in the background while he went forward
to find his sister. She observed that it was not only
his English clothes that marked him out from his
surroundings ; he had the quiet sense and dignity of
manner that carry men of his nation through the
difficult places of life. She could not imagine him
either flurried or intimidated, and she was quite sure
that he would never seek a quarrel or fail to show
fight when one was forced on him. She watched him
make his way through people running to and fro like
ants whose eggs have been disturbed ; and from where
she stood she watched his meeting with his sister.
They did not kiss each other, and that seemed as
strange to the German girl as the want of sentiment
in his letters. She saw that his sister's softer face had
a look of his, but her manner was more animated.
She showed delight when she met her brother; she
thrust rugs and books into his hand, and hurrying up

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to Rosamund, she kissed her affectionately before
Dacre had time to present them to each other.

" This day has seemed as drawn out as a week,"
she said; " I have longed so to see you."

She had a caressing voice and way with her, and a
friendly laugh in her dark eyes. Her clothes were
floppy and her hair rather dishevelled. She had her
hands full of parcels, and her travelling-bag was so
full that it gaped at each end, but she did not seem
conscious of anything being otherwise than it should
be. She stood close to Rosamund while her brother
looked after her luggage, and chatted about her
journey and about a halt at Cologne, where she had
been to the Zoological Gardens and seen the most
beautiful peacocks. She had seen the Dom too, but
she was evidently more interested in the peacocks.
She was still describing them when they all three got
into a cab together, and it was only as they stopped
at the hotel where she was to stay with her brother
that she asked Rosamund what she should wear
to-night. Rosamund explained that her aunt ex-
pected a good many people, and that there would be
music.

Betty had her capable hands full, but she found
time to ask Rosamund what she thought of the bride-
groom's sister. Rosamund made some colourless
reply, and secretly hoped that Joan's clothes would
do her justice to-night. It was no use telling Betty
that Joan had sweet eyes and a low, rich voice. If she
could have mentioned a tailor-made gown with the
new gores she would gladly have done so.

A good many people had arrived already when
Dacre and his sister made their appearance. Christian
Witt had sat down to the piano, but had not begun to
play yet. Betty, in diaphanous grey, was talking to

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him, and Rosamund had just come in from a smaller
sitting-room where the wedding-presents were dis-
played. Betty, Dacre, and Joan were all near the
piano now, and she had to go up to them. She had
been trying to keep away from Christian, because she
knew that it was wicked of her to wish as she did that
he was dauntless and faithful like the young Lochinvar,
and that, with one touch to her hand and one word in
her ear, he would even now carry her away. How
gladly she would go with him! His fingers had
touched the keys now, his eyes glanced towards her,
and he began to play. First he played one or two
light things that he judged suitable to the mixed
company; then he looked at Rosamund again, and,
with the sudden decisive manner characteristic of
him, he began the march of the Davidsbiindler. He
played it for her, she knew, because she loved it.
The mighty chords, the ecstasy, and the sadness were
his good-bye. She watched his intent face, and she
wished that life need not go on, with its enigmas and
its disappointments, beyond this exquisite moment
when she listened and he played.

But the exquisite moments of life come to an end,
and the people of little understanding jar the very
memory of them. So Rosamund felt at least when
the last chord was played, and Betty came up with
Joan Dacre, who had consented to sing. Joan looked
like a picture in a pale-blue velvet gown, and every
other woman in the room, except Betty, looked like
a clumsy reproduction of the prevailing mode. But
the others were very well pleased with themselves, and
had stared and whispered when they saw Joan's
draperies and turquoises. They forgave her because
she was English, and they forgave her dark Rossetti
hair and her halting speech. But Rosamund knew

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that they would never forgive or forget if she sang
badly. She had Brahms' Sapphische Ode in her
hands ! Rosamund glanced at Christian entreatingly .
He knew no one English could sing it, and he was
clever enough to stop anything he wished. She did
not want people to make fun of this kind, beautiful
Joan, and she could interpret the malicious twinkle
in Betty's eyes. But Christian did not respond. He
looked at Joan as if he saw the picture she made,
and not her divergence from the fashion books. He
asked her the name of her teacher, and sat down to
play her accompaniment. Rosamund fled into the
adjoining room, and found Dacre by himself there.
He had a leather case in his hands that he had just
taken from its wrappings.

" Joan is going to sing," she said.

" Is she? " said Dacre, seemingly unmoved.

" Can she sing?"

" You will hear directly."

" But Christian Witt is going to accompany her.
If she sings badly he is capable of stopping in the
middle and getting up in a rage."

" I think you wrong him," said Dacre; "he is
neither a child nor . . . quite ... a savage."

He had opened the leather case now, and displayed
a diamond necklace and two diamond stars for the
hair.

" These are for you," he said. " Would you like to
wear them now, or not till to-morrow? They only
arrived from England to-night."

Even Rosamund could see that the diamonds he
gave so quietly were splendid, too splendid, she
thought, for her to wear. She almost shrank from
them, and then she tried to thank him, and stopped
half-way with uplifted hand and solemn, wondering

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eyes. Joan's voice, Joan's low, wonderful voice,
came to them from the outer room:

" Rosen brach ich Nachts mir am dunklen Hage;
Susser hauchten Duft sie, als je am Tage."

" What a voice! " murmured Rosamund under her
breath — " oh, what a voice! "

She hardly took count of what Dacre was doing.
He had come close to her with the unclasped necklace
in his hands. The passionate music, Joan's voice,
Christian's touch on the piano, stirred and held her.

" Auch der Kiisse Duft mich wie nie beriickte
Die ich Nachts vom Strauch deiner Lippen pfluckte."

Dacre was fastening the diamonds round her throat.
Then, with some whispered word about the beauty
of her hair, he put the diamond stars in it, and then,
seeing they were by themselves, he took her in his
arms and kissed her. She went white to the lips, and
neither spoke nor raised her eyes. She would have
torn the diamonds from her if she could. They felt
heavy and cold.

The song came to an end, a buzz of admiration
followed it, and Christian's voice sounded above the
others in praise and encouragement. When Rosa-
mund went through into the other room she found
herself surrounded in her turn. Every one wanted
to see her jewels — every one wished her joy. Her
eyes sought Christian, but he stood apart from the
others and looked at Joan Dacre. The flash of the
bride's diamonds did not reach him in that quiet
corner where he talked of music to the English girl.

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XVIII

THE civil ceremony and the religious ceremony were
over. The wedding-dinner, with its interminable
healths and speeches, was nearly over. The speeches
had all been in honour of Rosamund's celebrated
lather and of his already honoured and soon to be
equally celebrated son-in-law. Many lights of the
University were present, and they burnt incense
before the great man who was dead and the young
living man who was following in his footsteps. If
they swung their censers in a new direction, it was
towards Betty, their charming hostess, who sat
between the bridegroom and the most important
guest in a rose-coloured gown, as pale and yet as
vivid as the inside of a shell. She was a brilliant
figure, and she wore the diamond comb that Rosa-
mund had given her that morning.

Rosamund neither ate nor drank, nor did she speak
except when Dacre addressed her. Her high, plain-
white satin dress did not suit such a dejected-looking
bride. Her veil covered her bright hair, her down-
cast eyelids hid her eyes.

" Heaven help the man! I would not stand in his
shoes," thought Christian Witt as he looked at the
girl's tragic face.

One old man got up and valiantly began his speech
with an allusion to the beautiful and happy bride,
but as he did not even know her by sight, was said
to be half blind, and sat a long way off, his flattery
did not carry much conviction. While the glasses
were still clinking to his toast, Dacre told Rosamund

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in an undertone to slip out and change her gown.
She got up at once and Betty followed her. They
found old Luise waiting for them, and Betty was
glad of her presence. Rosamund had hardly looked
wide awake all day, and even when she had given her
aunt the ring and the diamond comb that morning
her manner had not been affectionate. She did not
speak while Luise took off her veil and her wedding-
gown, and Betty gave her whole attention to the
grey travelling coat and skirt which she hoped would
pass muster in England, where tailoring, she said,
was the national fine art. Rosamund had just put
them on when there was a knock at the door, and
Joan came in with a bunch of Neapolitan violets.

" I have brought you these,'* she said to Rosa-
mund. " Will has just told me that we are not to
crowd round you as you go away, so I have come here
to bid you good-bye. Heir Witt is in the hall with
Will waiting to bid you good-bye too. He says he
is an old friend. I have asked him to come and see
us at Ormathwaite some day, and he says he would
like it."

" Are you going to live on at Ormathwaite now
that your brother is married ? " said Betty.

" I have nowhere else to live," said Joan, with a
startled glance towards Rosamund. " I am often
away, but ..."

A knock at the door interrupted hen

"We shall miss our train," said Dacre's voice
outside.

It was early evening now, and the hall lamp was
lighted. As Rosamund came from her room she saw
the two men standing under it— Dacre and Christian
Witt. They were of equal height, but Dacre's hard,
well-knit figure suggested greater strength. The

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German was much fairer than the Englishman and
more lively. He was smoking a cigar and talking to
Dacre, using both hands to help out his insufficient
tongue. They turned at the sound of the opening
door, and Dacre took a step forward to meet his bride.
Betty and Joan were both beside her, and while the
brother and sister said good-bye, Rosamund offered
a chilly little hand to Christian Witt. He held it
fast for a moment, called her " dear child " again,
and wished her happiness. She stood there numb
and silent while Betty and Joan both kissed her. Dacre
had to touch her arm before she moved away with
him. Christian and Joan glanced at each other and
glanced away again, half frightened of some self-
betrayal. Both wondered what lay before Dacre,
and both felt more sorry for him than for his bride —
Joan because he was her beloved brother, and
Christian because he understood something of men,
but nothing at all of girls.

But poor little Rosamund was the more unhappy
of the two as she preceded her husband downstairs.
She felt afraid and desolate. The romance, the
excitement, and the joy of a marriage consecrated
by love had all been wanting on her wedding-day.
The last spark of the bravado that had sustained
her flickered out as Dacre put her into the carriage
waiting for them and seated himself beside her.
How little she had foreseen the sensations of this
hour! How flat and yet how terrible it was to
venture forth beside a man whose voice could cast
no spell, whose least caress you dreaded! She had
consented to this great outward change in her life
with some vague hope that a corresponding inward
change would come of it. She had expected the
ceremony of to-day to end her old life as suddenly

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and completely as her arrival home last winter had
ended her life at school. She remembered how easy
it had been to forget the rigid rules, the likes and the
dislikes of the Dorotheenstift. But then she was
escaping from surveillance and entering into that
golden future where the dreams of early girlhood
were to find fulfilment. Now the future lay before
her, final, hopeless, little comprehended. She looked
at Dacre's strong profile as if she saw it for the first
time, and for the first time panic seized her.

Dacre did not know what to think. In spite of
Betty's assurances, it was becoming more and more
difficult to believe that Rosamund was only suffering
from fatigue and strain. At first he left her alone.
They were going no further than Bertholdsruhe that
night, and an hour's railway journey took them there.
Other people travelled in their compartment, and it
was not till they got to their hotel that they were by
themselves again. They were taken to a large room
that had been reserved for them on the first floor.
The waiter lighted candles, took Dacre's orders for
dinner, saw the luggage carried in, and then shut the
door behind him.

Rosamund stood in the middle of the room looking,
Dacre thought, as wretched as a man who hears the
gaol doors close upon him and knows they have
closed for life. He went up to her, led her to a sofa,
sat down beside her, and unclasped her travelling
cloak. Then, as you might do to a child who was near
you and yet shyly looked away, he put his arm round
her and gently turned her averted face towards his.
He saw the blood flame in her cheeks and leave them
ashen white. She shrank as far as she could from
him, and looked so scared and miserable that with a
sigh he got up.

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" You must lie down and rest," he said. " I will
leave you for an hour."

An unmistakable expression of relief on Rosamund's
face convinced him that his absence was what she
most desired ; so for nearly an hour he walked up and
down the streets of Bertholdsruhe, too anxious and
perplexed to notice the life around him, too ignorant
of women to know whether his bride would melt in
his arms when he returned, or still hold him at arm's
length as an enemy. The situation was both tragic
and absurd, but Dacre made up his mind to have
patience. When the hour was nearly over he bought
a box of chocolates for the child waiting in that bare,
dimly-lighted room for him.

Meanwhile Rosamund felt as ready for rest as a
hare who hears the hounds after it. She did not stop
to consider what she owed to Dacre, or what he might
justly feel of anger and disappointment. She was
too panic-stricken for reflection of any kind. She
looked round the room, and felt oppressed by the
strangeness of it. The two candles burning on the
table in front of her did not light the remote corners.
From where she sat she could just make out her big
wooden trunk and Dacre's English-looking luggage
side by side. Their handbags were on the table,
and she drew hers towards her and took out her
purse. She did not know what to do next, but there
was the open door and there lay freedom if she
had the courage to seize it — freedom and escape
from all this flying hour must lead to if she wavered
and, like a coward, stayed. At any rate she might
go out into the street. Perhaps the fresh air would
steady her. She felt driven by fear, as men do who
run from flames, without caring where their steps
take them or whom they hurt on the way.

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In the hall she met the waiter who had shown them
their room. He stood aside respectfully and watched
her pass out into the street. She walked a little way
and found that people stared at her a good deal.
That frightened her, and she began to wish she had
somewhere definite to go. The station lights gave
her an idea. She crossed the road, found the booking
office, and asked when there would be a train to
Fichtenstadt. She would go to old Luise, and
telegraph to Dacre telling him what she had done.
Of course he would be angry. Rosamund reflected
with a flash of compunction that he could hardly be
as angry as she deserved. He would never see her
or speak to her again, and the lawyers would probably
help him to marry some one else. Betty would be
angry too, but that did not matter. Rosamund
would never see her again either. She would go and
live with Luise in the old woman's native village,
where the forest came up to your back-door and the
geese were always running races in the dust. There
would be a train to Fichtenstadt in half an hour, the
man said, and he gave Rosamund the second-class
ticket for which she asked.

Half an hour was a long while to wait, especially as
the time could not be passed in some dark and hidden
corner. Every one about to travel was penned in a
well-lighted waiting-room with a restaurant attached,
and most people were eating and drinking. Rosa-
mund found a seat behind an open door, and sat there
patiently watching the clock. She did not make
plans, or vacillate, or look forward to difficulties.
The long strain of the day, and of the weeks preceding
it, seemed suddenly over. She felt as if she had died,
and was waiting in quiescence for what came next.
Presently there was some movement amongst the

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people in the room. A railway official opened a door
and announced in a loud voice that the train to
Fichtenstadt would start in five minutes. Rosa-
mund rose from her seat and ventured beyond her
sheltering door a little further into the room. She
was trying to slip in front of some old ladies progress-
ing very slowly when she felt a touch on her arm.

" What are you doing here, Rosamund?" said
Dacre. She turned with a guilty start and did not
answer. He took the ticket from her hand, looked
at it, tore it in two and threw it away.

" Come," he said.

He did not speak again until they reached their
room in the hotel. The candles were still burning
on the table, her cloak lay as she had left it on the
sofa; she saw a new package beside her travelling-
bag, and guessed that Dacre had brought it and left
it there when he found her gone. She had no courage
yet to look at him, much less to speak; but though
her eyes were cast down, she knew that he was looking
at her.

" So you were running away from me," he said at
last; and to her amazement he spoke kindly. " Are
you as much afraid as that, child? "

" I want to go back to Fichtenstadt," she said,
taking courage. " I want to live with old Luise.
If I may have my own money, there will be enough
for us both."

" Is that all you want? " said Dacre.

His voice was not quite so kind then. Its irony
stung her into looking at him, and as she did so she
made a discovery. In no sense could she measure her
strength against his, and he knew this; yet she had
hurt him. His eyes were full of trouble rather than
of anger.

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" I wish I had thought of it before," she said
naively.

" So do I," said her husband.

Rosamund hung her head. That there was his
point of view to consider as well as her own had not
presented itself with any force until now.

" If you had told me a week ago that you would
rather live in a garret with old Luise than be my
wife . . . if you had told me yesterday . . . this
morning even . . . something might have been
done. Now it is too late."

" But I didn't know I should hate it so ... till we
came away ... by ourselves," said Rosamund.

" Directly I got back to Fichtenstadt I saw that
you looked ill and miserable. I spoke to your
aunt about it, and she assured me that you were
only tired, and would be all right when we were
married."

" She used to say so to me too," said Rosamund;
" I half believed her. But of course she would have
said anything to gain her point."

"What was her point?"

" To get me out of Fichtenstadt."

"Why?''

Rosamund hesitated. She did not like answering
Dacre's curt questions; she did not see where the
next would lead her. Yet she did not know how to
evade them.

" I suppose I was in her way," she said lamely.

" With Mr. Christian Witt? "

Rosamund's silence and her sudden flush answered
him.

" What made you consent to marry me? " he said,
speaking with some hardness now. " If you cared
for another man, you should have told me so. It

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was not an impossible marriage. It might have
been arranged for you."

" But Herr Witt does not wish to marry," said
Rosamund.

" How do you know? "

" He told Aunt Betty so."

"When?"

" At Klein Laufenburg."

A long silence succeeded this quick interchange of
question and answer. Dacre walked up and down the
room once or twice, and Rosamund's eyes followed
him into the shadows, and stared at the floor when
he came back again. The suspense seemed unbear-
able. She had floundered into confession, and did
not know what to expect at his hands, or whether to
be glad or sorry that he had forced the truth from her.
A knock at the door took Dacre to that end of the
room, and he told the waiter who came to announce
dinner that they would be down in a few minutes.
When the door had closed he came up to Rosamund
again.

" You told me you did not love any one else," he
said.

"It was true ... it was true! " cried the girl.
" I thought I hated him."

" Why should you ? What had he done ? "

" Aunt Betty asked him to marry me, and he
refused. Now you know the whole story."

" It is a very pretty one," said Dacre. " And now
will you get ready for dinner? "

" Am I to stay with you, then ? "

" Of course you are to stay."

She did not know how to interpret his tone. It
was authoritative and a little disdainful, but not
harsh. He told her how to find the private room in

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which their dinner was to be served, and when she
went in there he came forward to receive her. There
were lights and flowers on the table, a good dinner
and good champagne. Such things, though they are
material, tend to comfort the spirit. Besides, Dacre's
tranquillity of manner reassured Rosamund. When
they were left to themselves she summoned up courage
to ask him how he had known where to find her.

" The hotel porter saw you in the waiting-room,"
he said.

" What should you have done if the train had
started? " she asked.

" Taken the next one."

She looked surprised.

" I thought that if I went away I should never
see you again," she said.

" I'm afraid you don't understand yet," said Dacre.
" When we were married this morning we entered
into a contract with each other that only death can
dissolve."

XIX

SINCE her mother's death Rosamund had never been
of importance to anybody. Her father had not kept
her with him, Betty had shown her plainly that she
was in the way, Christian's affection was a trifling
matter, and now she had begun her married life by
doing her best to alienate her husband. As she sat
at the open window of her room she wondered dis-
consolately how her behaviour yesterday would affect
her future. Perhaps, in spite of what Dacre had said
about marriage being indissoluble, he would arrange

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for her to live away from him and with strangers.
How could she expect him to forgive and forget?
When they met at breakfast this morning he had been
urbane and kind, but she knew instinctively that she
had raised a barrier. She had thrust him from her,
and he would remember it probably as long as they
both lived. The sunshine was flooding the room
that had looked so dark and forbidding the night
before; the bright warm day cheered Rosamund.
When Dacre entered the room she looked at him
wistfully, like a child who is ready to ask forgiveness,
but has no courage. He sat down opposite her, and
began to talk of dates and journeys.

" They cannot be ready for us at Ormathwaite for
about three weeks," he began; and then he stopped
in surprise, because Rosamund's face first flashed
with pleasure and then reddened with confusion.

"I didn't know," she stammered; "I thought
perhaps you would not want me at Ormathwaite."

" Where would you propose to go instead? "

" I don't know."

Dacre did not permit himself to smile. He looked
gravely at his time-tables, and said that they would
make a move to-day. They had arranged to go to
Italy, and then to Paris.

" It was Aunt Betty who insisted on Paris," said
Rosamund; " I would rather see London."

" Very well," said Dacre, " we will give up Paris
and have a week in London."

"But shall you care for that? Of course you
know London."

" It will give me pleasure to show it to you," said
Dacre.

Rosamund looked at the sky and the trees, and then
her eyes came back to her husband. The sunshine

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the sense of youth, the thought of foreign cities, were
all exhilarating. She was not quite so wretched
to-day as she had expected to be.

" I wonder you care to show me anything," she said
shamefacedly.

Perhaps he did not hear. He made no sign, and she
had spoken in a low voice. But she had no courage
to try again, and presently he found what he wanted
in his time-tables, and asked her to be ready in half
an hour. Soon after he went downstairs to give
orders about their luggage, and she did not see him
again until they met at the hotel door and crossed
the road to the railway-station. They were detained
for a few minutes in the waiting-room where she had
sat the night before, and Rosamund remembered how
forlorn she had felt, and how she had feared her
husband's devastating wrath when he found her.
She was used to people who said a great deal when
they were angry, who brought out their thunder and
turned every one's sky as black as possible. When
Betty scolded her maids you could hear her voice all
over the flat, and when Christian was in a rage his
whole body expressed it. If Dacre had struck her,
Rosamund would hardly have been surprised. She
felt sure he would storm at her first, and then treat
her like a criminal. But so far he had done nothing
of the kind. He had looked angry enough last night
when he fetched her back to the hotel, but how little
he had said! Yet she thought the anger must be
deep in his heart. He attended to her comfort, he
consulted her wishes, sometimes he smiled, but she
could not flatter herself that he felt happy. It was
dawning on her that in a loveless marriage the woman
is not invariably the only victim. This was quite a
new and a distressing idea.

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They stayed a week at Florence and a week at
Venice, and in both cities Dacre met English friends,
who tried to be charming to Rosamund, and were
charming to him without trying. Rosamund felt ill
at ease with these people, and, as far as she might,
avoided their company. In spite of her English
mother, she did not feel one of them. In Venice she
came into a room at an unlucky moment, and heard
a broken scrap of a discussion she was not meant to
hear — something about Dacre of Ormathwaite having
married a stupid little German girl, something about
an expedition at which he was wanted and she was
not. They stopped in consternation when they saw
her, and by their manner she could tell that they
were uncertain whether she had heard, and that the
doubt distressed them. For they were quite kindly,
pleasant people. Only they thought the world of
Dacre, and not very much of her. It was quite
natural, she said to herself afterwards, but it was not
exactly inspiriting. Soon after this Dacre caught her
staring with grave intentness at her image in the
glass. She was so much absorbed that she did not
see him until he s tood behind her.

" Well, Rosamund/' he said, rather amused.

" I was wondering if I looked very stupid," said she.

" Of course you don't. Why should you ? "

" I am beginning to find out that I am very
ignorant," she said sadly. " I have been nowhere;
I know nothing and no one. When I am with your
friends I sit there like a fool while they talk to you of
things I don't understand. Of course they think
me a fool."

" My dear girl, you are nineteen, and these people
are between thirty and forty. They might think
you a fool if you rushed in where you didn't under-

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stand. I'm glad you never do that. Now I want to
tell you about an expedition we are planning for
to-morrow."

" I would rather not go," said Rosamund hastily.

11 Do you mean to refuse before you hear what it is ? "

That was exactly what Rosamund did mean, but
she could not say so. She listened to her husband's
explanation, and then she said she hoped he would
go and let her stay at home.

1 'Why?" said Dacre.

Rosamund flushed, and made some lame excuse.

" But, of course, I will go if you desire it," she
added.

She wished as she glanced at him that she knew
better how to read his mind. She felt more anxious
every day to please him, for every day was helping
to restore her old trust in him. In some ways he
behaved like a lover. He brought her flowers; he
had a lover's quick eye for her comfort and her fancies.
He was the most charming of companions, even in
picture-galleries, though he said he knew nothing of
pictures. He had the well-bred Englishman's faculty
of managing life without fuss or ill humour. When
things went a little wrong he made the best of them,
but in so far as they depended on his sense and fore-
thought they never did go wrong.

Rosamund was discovering how pleasant life could
be under such circumstances. She found herself
thinking about her husband when he left her, trying
to make friends with him when he returned. But
kind as he was, he baffled her. To-day, for instance,
when she said she would join the expedition if he
desired it, he told her, with his air of friendly irony,
to do as she pleased. She felt sure he thought her un-
reasonable, but would not say so. She began to think

The Professor's Legacy

that if she had offended a man of more primitive
manners, he would perhaps have raged violently at
the outset, and yet have been a simpler creature to
appease.

When they got to London, matters were worse from
her point of view. Dacre met people he knew at
every corner, and those who were unattached wanted
him for lunch and dinner at their clubs. He used to
explain that he would not leave his young wife, and
ask them to his hotel instead. Rosamund thought
he welcomed opportunities of adding a chorus to their
duet, for even when they went sight-seeing they often
had a companion.

After Mrs. Eastwood arrived at the hotel, Dacre
sometimes arranged that his wife should go out with
her instead of with him. Mrs. Eastwood lived near
him in the country, and her husband was an old friend.
She terrified Rosamund, who had never met any one
like her before, and wished, till she knew her better,
that she never need again. Mrs. Eastwood wore
number seven boots ; she stood six feet in her stock-
ings, and had a voice to match her stature. In the
morning she came down in a tailor-made coat and
skirt, and ate a breakfast as solid as a Frenchman's
dinner. At night she appeared in evening dresses
renovated by her maid, and with a heightened colour
that was healthy, but no more becoming than her
raiment.

Her English was the slangy, elusive English of her
kind, and Rosamund found it as puzzling as her ways
and her prejudices. She was quite good-humoured,
and more self-satisfied than an archangel would
rightly be. She had no interests except in outdoor
games and in animals. If Rosamund had been a dog
she would have made friends at once, but she did not

The Professor's Legacy

know what to do with a creature who hailed from
Germany, and had never seen a hockey match. At
Dacre's request she took her to some of the London
shops on two separate occasions, but these expeditions
did not help to form a friendship.

" Your husband tells me you're always in frillies
that won't do at Ormathwaite," she said to Rosa-
mund. " He wants you to be turned out like the
rest of us. Of course, I can give you a tip or two,
because I know all about clothes, and Joan knows
nothing. Some women would turn snarkey perhaps,
but Dacre says he'll lay odds you don't. Have you
a tidy mac ? "

" I don't know," said Rosamund, who understood
Shakespeare better than Mrs. Eastwood; and when
she went home, having acquired some garments she
thought hideous, she asked her husband to interpret.

" Did you say you'd lay odds I shouldn't turn
snarkey ? " she inquired.

Dacre laughed, and asked his wife what she had
bought.

" A most unpleasant cloak that smells of gas and
looks like pea-soup. It cost a great deal, and is
guaranteed to keep out heavy rain. I told Mrs. East-
wood that I stayed at home in heavy rain, and she said
I was quite too rippin'. We also went to her boot-
maker's, and ordered two pairs of boots exactly like
hers. One of them is to have large nails in the soles.
I have observed ..."

11 Well?" said Dacre.

" It is not good-natured of me," owned Rosamund,
" but I have observed that when Mrs. Eastwood sits
down she sticks out her boots as if she was not
ashamed of them."

" She is probably proud of them."

The Professor's Legacy

" Besides the boots, we bought a very ugly cloth
coat."

" But why did you take an ugly one ? " said Dacre.
" I thought Mrs. Eastwood knew all about clothes."
Rosamund actually looked at him with a gleam of
derision in her long eyes.

" Perhaps she knows what suits your climate,"
she said. " She cannot suit herself. When she
buys clothes she is always thinking about the roads
and the weather, and not about her own appearance,
and she does not seem to mind what things cost.
She wanted me to take a fur coat for thirty pounds."
"Did you take it?"
" Certainly not."

Dacre had been sitting at a table writing letters
wnen Rosamund came in. She wore her tailor-made
grey gown and a big black hat with feathers, and he
noticed that she looked rather chilly.

" Have you any furs? " he said. " The winter is
cold at Ormathwaite."

" My new coat will be warm enough for anything,"
said she; " but I shall only want to wear it in the
dark."

Dacre said nothing more just then, but after lunch
he asked Rosamund if she had made any engagement
with Mrs. Eastwood for the afternoon.

" No," said Rosamund. " She told me she was
going to ramp round with pasteboards till she
dropped."

" We will go out by ourselves, then," said Dacre.
" We have not done that for a week," said Rosa-
mund. " I should like to walk up Regent Street
and look at the shops. Mrs. Eastwood won't walk
a step. She says the late hours here make her feel
a bit cheap ; and this morning she told me one of her

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feet had been rocky ever since she came a purler in
the field last winter. I don't know what she meant,
and if that is the way you talk now, I think German
schools ought to inform themselves. We used to
read The Vicar of Wake field at the Dorotheenstift."
" I will do anything you please except stand in
front of drapers' shops," said Dacre.

But they walked up Regent Street together, and he
took her to a furrier's where, without any idea of the
cost of such things, she chose a sable pelerine and
muff, and a loose fur-lined coat for driving.

" Can I afford them? " she whispered as the assis-
tant went to make out the bill.
" I can," said Dacre.

" But I think I ought to pay for my own things
if my money still belongs to me. You have never
explained about that to me, or told me what I shall
have to spend on clothes."

" We will go into that some day at Ormathwaite,"
said Dacre.

He got out his cheque-book and wrote a cheque
for the furs ; and while the attendant took it to the
cashier's desk, Rosamund tried to thank her husband.
She had the pelerine on her shoulders and the muff
in her hands, and she looked smiling and pretty as
she raised her eyes to his.

But as she walked out of the shop she felt vaguely
chilled and disappointed, she hardly knew why.
Dacre 's smile had civilly answered hers, yet — she
could not have told you how— he had been irrespon-
sive. Perhaps his kindness did not proceed from
personal affection at all, but from a sense of duty.
Perhaps he gave her furs as he gave her bread-and-
butter— because he had undertaken to supply her
needs. Perhaps he had really cast her out of his

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heart, although he let her live at his side. If in her
folly she had brought this about, the future would be
wintry indeed.

As they walked on up Regent Street they stopped
in front of a window with photographs, and she
saw one that reminded her of Christian Witt. His
name had never passed her lips or Dacre 's since the
night of their marriage, but now, without stopping to
consider, she turned to her husband and pointed to
the photograph resembling the musician.

" Isn't it like Christian Witt? " she said.

Directly she had spoken she knew that Christian's
name on her lips angered her husband. He walked
on, and did not speak until he reached Liberty's
second window.

" We will go in here," he said. " I want to get
something for Joan."

XX

THEY were in the train on their way north, and they
had a compartment to themselves. At St. Pancras
Dacre had bought Rosamund a sheaf of illustrated
papers and magazines, but she had not opened them
yet. It amused her more to look out of the windows
at the English landscape, and to think about the
English home at the end of her journey. She had
travelled so far and seen so much since her marriage
that each day had been full of its own events and its
own new surroundings. She had not dwelt much on
the quiet country life awaiting her, and she had not
asked Dacre many questions about Ormathwaite.

The Professor's Legacy

The rift between them had widened since yesterday,
when she had spoken the name that was losing its
glamour, and had seen him stiffen at it. After they
got back to the hotel she had tried to approach him,
but she felt hot and uncomfortable to-day, as she
thought of her failure. She had gone up to her
husband and had said, without hesitation or preamble :

" Did you mind my speaking of Christian Witt ?
I hardly ever think of him now."

" That is wise of you," he had said; but though he
looked at her with a gleam of amusement, his manner
did not encourage her to say more. To-day her
glance often sought his face, but he read steadily
and did not seem to see, and she had no excuse for
disturbing him. They were near Leicester before he
put down his Times, and then he stretched out his
hand for some of her picture papers. She could not
resist a little sigh of impatience and disappointment.

" What is it ? " he said at once.

" Are you going to read through all these now ? "
she asked.

" What do you want me to do ? "

" I want you to tell me about Ormathwaite."

" But I have told you over and over again .-;.ȣ
it is a grey stone house with moors round it ...
ten miles from a railway-station ... ten miles
from a lemon it used to be ... now, of course, we
get our lemons by post."

" But is there no town ? . . . Are there no shops ?"

" There is a shop in the village where you can buy
pickles and boot-laces when you want them."

"I should think housekeeping must be difficult
there."

"Not at all. Some things come by post or by
carrier, and the rest we ' raise ' ourselves. But

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you will have nothing to do with that. Joan has
always kept house, and she had better go on ...
at any rate for a time, until you are used to English
ways."

Rosamund hardly knew whether to feel relieved or
disappointed. She began to wonder what her place
would be, and what she would find to do.

" I have read some English novels," she said.
" I thought a country house was always full of people,
and that you played tennis by day and had private
theatricals at night . . . except, of course, when
you went to bazaars."

"I'm afraid we are not as lively as that at Orma-
thwaite," said Dacre, and he took up a magazine as
if he thought the subject exhausted; but Rosamund
returned to it.

" Are there many neighbours? " she asked.

" Very few . . . within reach . . . just the East-
woods and Frank Ilchester . . . and the Vicar and his
sisters. That is why I have decided to settle down
there for the present. I expect to work in peace."

" Who is Frank Ilchester? "

" Mrs. Eastwood's brother. But he is not much
at home."

" Is your house a large one ? Is there a pretty
garden there ? " persisted Rosamund.

Dacre was fluttering through the pages of a
magazine now, and he paused before he answered
her again. But as he did so he raised his eyes and
met her eager glance. He put down the magazine,
leant back in his seat, and looked at the wife he
was taking home with him, wondering for a moment
what his folk would make of her. She was a foreigner,
she was a child, she had never sat on a horse, and
did not know a bull-dog from a terrier. Even her

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beauty was elusive and variable. A slip of a girl
she looked still, with graceful movements and a blush
that came like a throb in her face and throat. Her
eyes changed with her mood and the light, from the
green of moonstones to what might pass for black;
they were long and set rather far apart. Her hair,
now that she knew better what to do with it, was a
glory. Ever since his marriage Dacre had felt like a
man who has a wounded bird in his hands — that he
is afraid to let go and hates to hold. Every flutter
distressed him, and yet made him tighten his grasp.
However unhappy she was, he must keep her with
him. Besides, little as he knew of women, he knew
that the last word was perhaps not said. He might
win her yet. But he meant to do his wooing in his
own way, and it was not the way he had chosen
before. He told her that Ormathwaite was a good-
sized house, and that it had a large garden. Then
the train stopped at Leicester, and he changed into
a smoking compartment. Rosamund amused herself
as best she could with her magazines, but she looked
glad to see him when they arrived at Sheffield and
he came back again. He asked her if she would like
a tea-basket.

" Very much," she said " It will be something to
do. This has been a dull journey! "

It was dark long before they arrived at Whincliffe,
the station for Ormathwaite. A carriage was there
to meet them, and a cart for luggage. A footman
was waiting on the platform, and came forward
directly he saw Dacre. He took their handbags and
rugs, and showed Rosamund the way to the carriage.
She sat there and looked out of the window, but she
could see nothing but the lighted station-yard and
some tall mill chimneys beyond. As they drove

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through Whinciiffe she got an impression of a broad
street with small shops on either side. Then they
turned into an unlighted country road and drove
uphill and downhill lor more than an hour. She
could see nothing but the road and the dark trees
and hedges bounding it, and by the light of the
carriage lamps she could see her husband's face. She
wished it would soften towards her now that they
were coming closer and closer to his home, and to the
long intimate future of their life together.

" Another time let it be morning when we arrive,"
she said suddenly.

" Why?" asked Dacre.

" It would be less alarming."

" What alarms you ? "

" Ideas . . . the darkness. . . . Suppose no one
in your home likes me? Suppose they all say . . .
as those people at Venice did . . . why did he
marry a little stupid German girl ? "

"Who said so at Venice?" asked Dacre, and
Rosamund told him what she had overheard.

" People will talk rubbish," he said indifferently.
" We are nearly there now. In two minutes you'll
see the gate."

She missed the words of welcome that would have
given her courage, she missed the clasp of his hand.
As they entered the gates another drive began that
in her anxiety seemed interminable. At last, set
round with darkness, she saw a lighted house.

" It is very big," she said, for the lights seemed to
stretch far away on either side of the central part,
where every window blazed a welcome to them.
The next moment the carriage stopped. Dacre helped
her out, and Joan put both arms round her. Rosa-
mund looked back for Dacre, but he did not see her.

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It was Joan who took her across her husband's
threshold. When Dacre followed them his first
words were for Joan. But the next moment his
wife was clinging to his arm. The butler had heard
the carriage arrive, had come into the hall, and, as
it seemed to Rosamund, had brought a whole pack
of big, barking, jumping dogs with him. Most of
them rushed up to Dacre and Joan, but one huge,
alarming creature, with curty hair and no tail, bundled
against Rosamund, stood on its hind-legs, and tried
to put its paws round her neck. She fled towards
her husband with a shriek.

" Oh, it's the puppy," said Joan. " Isn't he sweet ?
He only wants to put his paws round your neck,
Rosamund."

"I would rather he didn't," said Rosamund,
holding fast to Dacre's arm.

" Don't you like dogs, then? "

"Very much," said Rosamund, trying to escape
from the attentions of a lively fox-terrier. " But I
am not used to so many at a time."

Dacre laughed.

" Come away from them," he said, and he led
Rosamund into one of the rooms opening on to the
hall.

" This is Joan's room," he said. " If we can find
a chair without a cat or a dog on it, you shall sit by
the fire and get warm."

" I have ordered tea in here," said Joan's soft
voice behind them; " I thought you would like some
after your long, cold drive."

Dacre had picked up two cats from a chintz-
covered easy-chair and pushed it close to the blazing
fire for Rosamund. A huge blue Persian cat had
gone to meet Joan, and when she sat down on the

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sheep-skin rug a family of kittens shook themselves
awake and began to scamper round her. The room
was airy and pleasant, with a long, low window open-
ing into the garden. But it was not at all tidy. The
sofa was heaped up with books and magazines ; the
grand piano stood open, and was strewn with music,
and on the top of a tall book-case . . . Rosamund
rubbed her eyes, and thought she must be dreaming
... on the top of the bookcase . . . with solemn
folded wings . . .

" Are those birds up there? " she asked.

" They are hens I brought up by hand," said Joan.
" They like sleeping here better than in the hen-house,
and if I leave the window open they come in."

" I forgot to tell you that Joan turns the house into
a menagerie," said Dacre.

Rosamund wondered whether her husband liked
the animals about, or only tolerated them. She had
never seen an untidier room, and Joan looked untidy
too. She had been out in the wind, and her hair was
rough. She wore a cockled tweed skirt, and the
affectionate fox-terrier had left muddy paw-marks
on her blouse. But as Rosamund sat by the fire and
noted these things her oppression of spirit died away.
It was impossible to feel afraid of Joan, or to resist
the easy-going atmosphere of her room. Presently
tea came, and she watched the quiet servants set
it out, and wondered at the variety of cakes. The
china was old Crown Derby; the silver was old too,
and very bright. Rosamund's thoughts flashed back
to the afternoon coffee in her father's bleak dining-
room, the rolls heaped anyhow on a japanned bread-
tray, the thick cups, the clatter made by old Luise.
Presently, when Joan had left them, she looked across
the hearth at her husband.

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" Are you glad to be in your own country again ? 'J
she said.

" I think I am," said he. " But I was very happy
in Germany as long as your father lived/'

This allusion to her father gave Rosamund pleasure.

" Do you remember the first time I saw you, when
you helped me light the fire ? And that other time,
when you took me to the Christmas fair and gave me
my little green watch? "

" I remember very well."

" I was not a bit afraid of you then," she said
dreamily.

"No," said Dacre. " As, a child you had some
sense."

" But I was not married to you then," said Rosa-
mund.

" I wonder what I have done since our marriage to
make you afraid of me? "

" Nothing. You are very kind . . . much too
kind. But sometimes I want to say something I
know you won't like, and then I feel afraid."

"Then why say it?"

" Because it is on my mind. I wish to go back to
Germany."

" I know you do," said Dacre. " Unfortunately,
it is impossible."

" How could you know? " said Rosamund, looking
baffled and rather vexed. " It only came into my
head just now."

It was not necessary for Dacre to speak. His
direct glance reminded her of the waiting-room at
Bertholdsruhe and of her panic-stricken flight from

him.

" It is for your sake that I wish it," she went on.
" You would be much happier without me ... you

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and Joan. I have only come into your life to spoil it.
Why don't you let me go ? "

" You're tired," said Dacre. " Come upstairs and
see your rooms."

"I'm not tired," said Rosamund.

" Then you're silly. For better, for worse, you
are my wife. You are going to live with me, and not
anywhere else."

" I don't want to live anywhere else," cried Rosa-
mund; " but I think it's rather hard on you."

" It's hard on both of us," said Dacre. " But as
it is quite beyond recall, the less we think of it and
talk of it the better. Here comes Joan with a cat
on each arm. She shall take you upstairs."

XXI

JOAN led Rosamund into a big bedroom on the first
floor. The curtains were drawn, the fire was burning,
and Rosamund's big trunk had been unpacked and
carried away.

" We need not dress for half an hour," said Joan,
putting her young sister-in-law into an easy-chair
near the fire. " Would you like to rest, or shall we
talk?"

" Oh, stay and talk. I want you to tell me things.
I have never been in England, although my mother
was English. Are you really going to put on another
dress at this time of night ? And shall I ? "

Joan glanced at the bed and saw a white voile skirt
put out and a white silk blouse made high in the neck
and with long sleeves.

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" That will do for to-night," she said. " Of course,
you will want evening dresses."

" Every evening ? At home ? When we are by
ourselves? ".

" Yes."

" One reads of it in English books ; and at the hotel,
whenever she was going to the theatre, Mrs. Eastwood
came down to dinner ... so ..."

With an expressive little sweep of her hands, Rosa-
mund described Mrs. Eastwood's daily deballage.

" Did you like Mrs. Eastwood ? " said Joan. " She
is our nearest neighbour."

Rosamund made a slight grimace.

" I like her ... oh yes. . . . She's what you
call ' a good sort.' . . . But I don't like her clothes
... and your brother asked her to buy me clothes.
I am not a young man, and I have not the least desire
to resemble one."

Joan laughed at the girl's whimsical tone, and with
some inward surprise noted the flash of fun and mis-
chief in her eyes.

" I suppose you will find a good many things
strange at first . . . the housekeeping ..."

" I am not to keep house," said Rosamund quickly.
" Your brother has said so to-day. He wishes you
to go on with it."

"But shall you like that?" said Joan, rather
startled.

" I shall look on," said Rosamund; and then she
adroitly came back to the question of clothes.

But Joan found her brother alone in the drawing-
room when she went down to dinner, and told him at
once that she expected to put the management of the
house in his wife's hands. He would not hear of it.

" Either we will go on as we are," he said, " or I
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will get a housekeeper . . . whichever you please
. . . but I would rather go on as we are."

" So would I," said Joan, " if you are quite sure
Rosamund will not resent it."

" I am quite sure," said Dacre; " she would feel
lost."

Joan thought her brother was making a mistake.
It was impossible that the bride should like to be
dethroned in this way. But for the present she had
said what she could.

Dinner seemed a stately meal to Rosamund,
although she was shrewd enough to perceive that it
was not very well served, and not at all well cooked.
The dining-room was large and panelled with old oak.
There were family portraits against the panels, and
there was fine old silver on the cable and sideboard.
There were white chrysanthemums in honour of the
bride; there were hothouse grapes and a pineapple
for dessert. But when Rosamund unfolded her nap-
kin she saw two holes in it, and the name marked
in ink in one corner. The soup was wine and water,
the sauce was flour and water, the spinach was
coarsely cut. She watched her husband, and won-
dered whether he minded such things; but she
could not discover that either Joan or he observed
them — at least, they made no sign until the servants
had left the room. Then Dacre turned to his sister
and asked if she still had the same cook.

" Yes," she said.

" She can't cook," said Dacre.

Joan looked surprised, but in no way troubled.
She smiled sweetly at her brother and got up from
table.

" In future you must get up first," she said to Rosa-
mund, as they crossed the hall together, " especially
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when people are there; you must remember about it.
But perhaps, as your mother was English, you know
our ways."

" No," said Rosamund; " she died when I was a
child, and I was at school till last October. I am glad
you are here to tell me. If you were not I should
make mistakes, and then every one would laugh, and
that would not be pleasant for your brother."

" People won't laugh when they see how pretty you
are," said Joan.

" Am I ? " said Rosamund, colouring with pleasure.
The two girls had reached the drawing-room hearth-
rug, and they could see their reflections side by side
in the old-fashioned mirror above the chimney-
piece.

" I am as black as a crow," said Joan, " and you are
like a lily, all white and gold. No wonder Will fell
in love with you. He and I have always admired fair
people."

" I admire dark ones," said Rosamund softly; " I
think you are very pretty."

" But what do you think of Will ? " said Joan,
laughing, as she drew Rosamund down beside her on
a sofa; " isn't he a dear? "

" Yes," said Rosamund inadequately. It had not
occurred to her to regard her formidable husband as
" a dear."

" You have known him for years, haven't you ? "

"Yes; but not very well. He was usually in
England when I was at home for the holidays."

" Was your father fond of him? I love to hear
about Will, and he never talks of himself."

" My father thought more of him than of any one
in the world. They were devoted to each other.
Didn't you know that my father left all his affairs in

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his hands, and that they were writing a great book
together? "

" Yes, I knew that. Oh! and years ago he told me
what a charming child you were."

" Did he? " said Rosamund.

" I will show you a whole gallery of photographs of
him at all ages," said Joan impulsively. " Perhaps
you would like to have them framed for your own
room."

She fetched a lacquer box containing old photo-
graphs of Dacre. Many were faded, but Rosamund
recognised in all her husband's features and expres-
sion, the direct look in his eyes, and the firm, well-
shaped chin. She was still bending over a Rugby
football team when he came into the room and asked
what they were doing.

" I am showing Rosamund photographs of you at
all ages," answered Joan; " I am going to give them
to her. Come and look at them, Will."

She moved so as to make room for her brother
beside his wife, but he did not sit down.

" I should like some music," he said, turning away.
" Won't you sing, Joan? "

He opened the piano, and stayed near it until his
sister began to sing. Then he went back to the sofa,
and sat down beside his wife. Meanwhile Rosamund
had gathered the photographs together, and put them
back into the lacquer box.

"Shall I sing the Sapphische Ode?" said Joan,
when her brother asked her to go on. " I sang it
at Fichtenstadt the night before your wedding. Do
you remember? "

Yes; they remembered. Rosamund did not lift
her eyes. Dacre moved his dark head restlessly
against the pillows of the sofa.

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"Sing something else," he said; "sing some
Schumann."

"Don't you care for the Sapphische Ode?" said
Joan, half turning in surprise, and as she bent over
a music cabinet she hummed the opening bars.

Rosamund, without thinking, put one of her hands
to her throat. She felt the cold, hard touch of the
diamonds there ; she looked up swiftly at her husband,
remembering his kiss. But to-night his eyes were
turned away.

" Now Rosamund must sing," said Joan, getting
up when she had finished Schumann's Widmung.
" Herr Witt said he had taught her. Come to the
piano, Rosamund, and do him credit. What a
teacher he must be! I quite lost my head and my
heart to him. Will, do tell Rosamund to sing. I
want to be reminded of Herr Witt."

But Dacre had walked to another part of the room,
and was apparently interested in some Egyptian
curiosities he must have known all his life. Rosa-
mund said she was tired and out of practice, and
would rather not sing to-night. Joan watched her
brother as he paced up and down the long room.
She thought he looked sad, and that Rosamund
showed none of the gaiety and self-confidence natural
in a young beloved wife. She began to wish herself
away for their sakes, and she soon made some excuses
and slipped from the room. When she had gone,
Dacre sat down beside Rosamund again and began
to talk of indifferent things— of the age and size of the
house, of its history, and, incidentally, of Dacres who
had owned Ormathwaite before him.

" Are you like any of them? " asked Rosamund,
" I believe I am like a great-uncle who was con-
sidered a disgrace to his family because he went into

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trade," said Dacre, laughing. " He quarrelled with
his father about it, and they were bad friends for
twenty years. Then they made it up, and the trader
left a large fortune to his descendants. You owe
your furs to him, really."

" Twenty years," said Rosamund, her mind fixing
on the length of time a Dacre could take to forgive an
injury. " I should not like to be bad friends with
any one for twenty years. Could you bear a grudge
as long as that?"

" I could bear one for ever," said Dacre. " There
are things I would never forgive."

"What things?"

" Oh, well, treachery of any kind . . . some lies
. . . not necessarily big ones."

A low sigh escaped Rosamund, but she said nothing,
and just then Joan came back into the room. Next
day, when the two girls were going over the house
together, Rosamund found the portrait of which her
husband had spoken, and looked at it anxiously.

" But that man has hard eyes as well as a hard
chin," said Joan; " Will's eyes are kind."

" They can be hard when he is not pleased," said
Will's wife.

" But Will is so easy to please," said Joan.

In some ways Rosamund perceived that her
husband really was easy to please — at least, he put
up with Joan's happy-go-lucky housekeeping more
good-humouredly than most men would have done.
The house was a large one, requiring a capable
mistress or housekeeper, and a proper staff of well-
trained servants to keep it in order. But Joan had
lived there for years as the three of them lived
there now, occupying a few rooms, roughly comfort-
able, and quite content. Joan saw the cook upstairs

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every morning for five minutes, and spent the rest
of the day at the piano or out of doors with her dogs.
She had no notion of time, and domestic mishaps
never vexed her. Her servants stayed for ever,
but as she was unpunctual and untidy, they were
unpunctual and untidy too. All the rooms in use
were overrun by animals, and the footman valeted
dogs better than he waited at table.

Rosamund, being only nineteen and very impres-
sionable, took colour at first from her new surround-
ings. She ran about out of doors with Joan, took
lessons from Joan in riding and driving, came in late
for meals, and often looked untidy. When neigh-
bours from far and near came to call on the bride
they were either told she was not at home or taken
in to see two young ladies who had not looked at a
glass since breakfast, and had been out in the winter
winds all day. They could not hear what the young
ladies said for the barking of dogs, and they could
not sit down on the comfortable chairs because cats
had found them comfortable first.

Old Lady Lavington was met at the drawing-room
door by a large white owl that swooped lazily down
towards her from the ceiling, and she was so much
startled that she fled, never even leaving her card.
Mrs. Eastwood walked over one day with her favourite
Aberdeen, and he took on two of the Ormathwaite
dogs. There was such a noise in the hall that Dacre
came on the scene, and found an excited heap of
dogs and ladies amongst the ruins of a Nankin vase.
Rosamund hung on to the fox-terrier that had
adopted her when she first arrived, and was valiantly
trying to take Mrs. Eastwood's advice and bite his
tail. But she was laughing too much to be successful.
Dacre got hold of him by the collar, Joan sat down

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suddenly with her bob- tail puppy in her arms, Mrs.
Eastwood picked up the Aberdeen and shook him.
The dogs and the ladies were happy, and the ladies
were too breathless to speak. When Mrs. Eastwood
did speak she created consternation.

" There are wheels," she said; " callers ! "
Joan uttered a little cry of dismay as the bell rang.
Rosamund looked at the broken china and over-
turned chairs. Her cheeks were burning, and Joan's
back hair was coming down. The only thing that
supported h£r was Joan's composure as she went to
meet the tall, well-dressed woman now advancing
slowly across the hall. Rosamund could not feel
composed. She wished she could get behind a screen
and hide there. She had been about six weeks in
England now, and she had come to the conclusion
that all Englishwomen were good-humoured, that
they wore clumping boots, did their hair anyhow,
and were neither neat nor elegant. But Mrs. Fitzurse
upset her conclusions. The cut of her skirt, the tilt
of her hat, the puffs of her hair, the fripperies hiding
her rather scraggy neck, were all just what they
should be, and cried shame on the three ragamuffins
confronting her. She did not look at all good-
humoured, and Rosamund felt sure that as she
crossed the hall the shortcomings of Ormathwaite
jumped to her eyes. Joan led the way into the
drawing-room as soon as she could, and saw with
some faint annoyance that the fire was out and the
hearth very untidy. As it was bitterly cold she
proposed that they should go to her room, so they
all trooped across the disorderly hall again, and Mrs.
Eastwood's Aberdeen tried to kill one of Joan's cats.
When he had been hauled off and there was a lull,
Joan rang for tea, but no tea came. Dacre had

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managed to vanish before Mrs. Fitzurse entered, and
Rosamund heard her ask after him.

" I knew him very well as a boy," she said, " but he
has chosen to bury himself all these years. ..."

This attracted Rosamund's attention. It had not
occurred to her that in the neighbourhood of Orma-
thwaite Fichtenstadt would be regarded as a tomb.
She knew that Betty and Christian Witt would con-
sider Ormathwaite a tomb.

" He has come here to bury himself," said Joan.
"He is hard at work on his book."

" Has he become quite unlike every one else? "
said Mrs. Fitzurse, examining Rosamund through
her starers and seeming to address her.

" I think he was born unlike most of us," said
Rosamund; "he is so clever."

" Clever ! " said Mrs. Fitzurse, repeating the word
as if she thought there was something slightly im-
proper about it; "he used to sit a horse very
well."

" He can do that still," said Joan; and then Mrs.
Fitzurse got up to go. Joan asked her to wait for
tea, and her glance of refusal managed to convey her
belief that she might wait a long while and get none,
and that when it arrived it would not be worth
having.

" She always comes when we are untidy," said
Joan regretfully, as she rejoined the others.

" She could hardly help that," said Rosamund;
"we are always untidy."

" I detest cats," said Mrs. Eastwood, picking up
Joan's Persian and petting it. " The moment she
entered the hall I knew my hat was awry and my
boots muddy. Her glances are as offensive as a
mirror."

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Rosamund said nothing more just then, but she
made up her mind that in future she would look
after the drawing-room fire herself every afternoon.

XXII

SOCIALLY speaking, Ormathwaite was in a dull
neighbourhood. When Rosamund had been there
three months twenty or thirty people had called,
and there had been a few solemn dinner-parties
in her honour. Otherwise nothing had happened.
Dacre was so busy with his book, his plans for a new
laboratory, and the management of his property,
that his wife and sister hardly saw him except at
meals or for a short time after dinner. Rosamund
sometimes wondered what sort of life would lie
before her if Joan ever married; but after three
months of such social intercourse as the neighbour-
hood afforded, she had not seen any one that Joan
could marry. The few men about were husbands
already, or over sixty, or under eighteen. She
heard people talk of Mrs. Eastwood's brother, Frank
Ilchester, and whenever she drove to Whincliffe she
passed his gates. But he was spending the winter
in the South of England. Then there was Mr. Sid-
mouth, an unmarried curate who tried to play the
piano. As a man and a curate he was well enough,
but as a musician he was not to be endured. Besides,
he was two years younger than Joan.

Rosamund considered that she knew all about
English country life now. She had returned calls
with Joan, seen various interiors, and discovered

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that all English housewives were not as harum-scarum
as her sister-in-law. When she dined with the
Eastwoods there were no holes in the table linen,
and when other people were surprised by visitors
their rooms were presentable, and their raiment too.
These facts impressed her, but she still ran rather
wild, came to table with wind-blown hair and wet
skirts, and even took to twisting her hair in a loose
knot because Joan did — and Joan could do no wrong.
But the first time she appeared with it so Dacre asked
her what she had done to herself.

" Don't you like it ? " she said.

" Not at all ... for you."

He was leaning back in a low chair and she was
standing on the hearth-rug, and she perceived that
though he wore old clothes, he looked well groomed.
She needed no glass to tell her she did not.

" The old way took some time," she said; " I can
do this in two minutes."

" So I should think," said Dacre. He looked at
her more attentively, and then he said: " There is a
button off your coat and there is mud on your skirt,
although there is no mud in the roads to-day. Whose
business is it to attend to your clothes? "

" I suppose it is my own," said Rosamund uncom-
fortably.

" But you have no time to do it. Then we will
get you a maid. We ought to have thought of it
before."

" I don't want a maid."

" But your clothes do ... evidently."

" I did not think you ever noticed such things."

" I don't ... as a rule," said Dacre; and that
evening he told Joan that he wished her to engage a
maid to wait on Rosamund and herself.

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11 Of course we ought to have one," admitted Joan ;
" but we don't like the idea."

" Perhaps you would rather have two," said her
brother. " I am sure Rosamund could employ one,
if it is only to brush her hair."

" I have sewn on that button, and sent down my
muddy skirt," said Rosamund.

She thought he might see for himself that she had
done her hair carefully and put on a gown she had
never worn before.

" I hate maids," said Joan, sitting down beside her
brother and putting her arm through his. "I never
felt happy till I got rid of mine two years ago. She
used to sniff at my clothes."

" You can't be surprised at that," said Dacre;
" I do myself."

Joan had her head on her brother's shoulder now
and was smiling contentedly. He was smiling a
little too, as if her coaxing affection pleased him.

"What do clothes matter, anyhow?" she went
on. " Besides, how could any one look prettier and
daintier than Rosamund looks to-night ? and if your
wife does you credit, what does your sister signify? "

" It is the first time that Rosamund has looked tidy
for weeks," said Dacre, " and the state of the house
matches the state of your wardrobes. The meals
are never in time, the cooking is bad, the rooms are in
confusion, the fires are not kept in. ... By the way,

I have given George notice . . . we must find a new
footman."

"Why?" said Joan, looking distressed at once.

II His mother is such a nice woman! "

" He disobeyed my orders . . . twice. The first
time I forgave him, the second time I told him
to go."

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" Poor George! " said Joan.

" When you look out for a maid and a footman
you had better look out for a capable housekeeper
too," said her brother.

" Of course I know I'm a bad housekeeper," said
Joan. " But we are very happy."

"We may be happy," said Dacre; "we are not
comfortable. At least, I am not. I like order . . .
and some idea of time, Joan."

" But you have never said so before," observed
Rosamund.

" I am saying it now, once for all," explained her
husband; " I made up my mind last night."

Rosamund and Joan looked at each other. There
had been a dinner-party at Ormathwaite last night,
but the ladies of the house had not been dressed in
time to receive the first arrivals. When they got
downstairs they found that the drawing-room lamps
had been smoking, and the windows opened to let out
the poisoned air. Dinner was half an hour late and
every one got rather chilly, and when they went into
the badly-lighted dining-room that was chilly too.
Then old Lady Lavington sat down on a cat curled
up on her chair, and the cat objected. The dogs,
who came to dinner every night, saw no reason why
they should be excluded to-night, and bolted after
George the first time he unwarily left a door open.
The puppy made one of his sudden rushes at Joan,
caught Major Eastwood's elbow on the way, and
upset his glass of champagne over Joan's gown.
Then, though the dinner was not really worse than
usual, it seemed a good deal worse when it was offered
to friends. Rosamund looked at her husband from
time to time, and wondered if he was as blind as he
appeared to be.

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*' Everything went wrong last night, I know,'*
said Joan. "The fish was dreadful, wasn't it?"

" Not worse than the grouse," said Dacre. " I
happened to be in the hall when Major Eastwood
arrived, and I heard him say to his wife, ' H . . . m!
no grouse for me to-day.' "

" Mrs. Fitzurse left it on her plate, and said to Sir
John D'Arcy Demain that she didn't agree with
Guinevere," chimed in Rosamund. " I knew what
she meant, but Sir John didn't."

"I wonder what makes creams stringy?" said
Joan.

" What makes sauces lumpy, and meat tough, and
soup thin? " said her brother.

" Look at Rosamund ! " cried Joan. " She is laugh-
ing at us. Perhaps she knows all about it, and yet
you won't let her keep house. Perhaps she likes
house affairs, and I hate them. When I'm married
I mean to live in a hotel with five dogs and a piano."

" Do you know anything of housekeeping? " said
Dacre to his wife.

" I know more than Joan. Of course, that isn't
saying much."

Joan jumped up, seized her sister-in-law by the
hands, and pushed her gently into the place she had
just vacated.

" I'll never order a dinner for either of you again! "
she cried. " You're an ungrateful pair! Settle it as
you like, but don't count on me for another day."

She ran out of the room before Rosamund had
time to speak or to move from the position in which
she found herself. Her head actually touched her
husband's shoulder, her arm lay rather stiffly across
his. He neither spoke nor stirred even when she
lifted her arm and moved a little further off, but she

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saw with pain that his expression had changed. The
half-lazy, laughing good-humour with which he had
listened to Joan had vanished now. His face was set
in tenser lines, and though his wife's laces touched
him, though the scent of the flowers she wore must
have reached him, though for a shamefaced instant
she had left her arm on his, he would not meet her
eyes.

The pause before he spoke was brief, but it was
long enough for Rosamund to feel aflame with hope,
and then chill with disappointment. He was going
to be kind and cool and friendly again, as he always
had been since their marriage, and she would have to
answer in his key, and pretend that the terms he
dictated were pleasing to her.

" Well, Rosamund," he said, " which is it to be?
Shall I get a housekeeper, or will you try your hand
at things ? "

" I should like to try," she said. " I have been
longing to try ever since I came."

" I wonder how you will begin? "

" I know exactly how I shall begin. I shall go
downstairs to-morrow morning, and I shall look at
the back-kitchens."

"What for?"

" I wish this cook to go. What do you pay her? "

" Forty pounds."

" Aunt Betty pays twelve, and her cook can cook.
I should not like to live in this country if I was
poor."

" We have never gone into the question of money
yet," said Dacre, with a note of self-reproach in his
voice; " and you have never come to me for any.
I ought to have thought about it."

" I should like a little," admitted Rosamund.
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" Last time I went to Whincliffe I had to borrow half
a crown from Joan for some stamps."

"My dear child! why didn't you tell me? You
had better have an account of your own at the bank,
and a cheque-book of your own. Joan must tell you
what her system has been."

But it turned out that Joan had had no system.
Her brother had paid in a lump sum to her account
when it occurred to her to ask for it. Sometimes she
had spent her own money on household expenses,
sometimes she had spent her brother's money on
frocks and journeys. She had never kept any
accounts — she said she considered them waste of time.
So for the next few days Rosamund went into her
husband's room every evening, and he arranged their
household figures and affairs. Dacre found that the
art of " home-making " was the one for which his
wife had capacity, and that she was going to succeed
rather notably. Of course, she made mistakes at first,
the mistakes of a foreigner. Some of the servants
left because they did not like the change of mistresses.
The cook gave notice at once, as Rosamund had hoped
she would. But the young wife stuck to her guns,
and insisted on the reforms her husband desired. She
liked to be busy in this way, and she liked to have
little excuses for approaching Dacre and consulting
him. He never again had to tell her that she looked
untidy.

" Rosamund is getting as vain as a peacock," said
Joan. " Whenever she goes into Whincliffe now she
buys fashion-books."

" The results are very pleasing," said Dacre, and
Rosamund lived on this expression of approval for
weeks. One night when she put on a gown that her
new maid had altered cleverly for her, she took

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courage from her own reflection, and without stopping
to think, ran down to Dacre's room. The one he sat
in had always been the library of the house, and was
lined with books. A smaller one opened out of it,
and this he had fitted up in a temporary way as a
laboratory. He was planning to build himself better
work-rooms when the summer came. He looked
surprised to-night when Rosamund appeared, for she
had never gone in at this hour before. He was ready
for dinner and was reading, and his first thought was
that he had not heard the gong, and that she had
come instead of sending to tell him. But he glanced
at the clock and saw that dinner would not be ready
for five minutes. Then he glanced at Rosamund.
She looked half uncertain of her reception, and yet
there was a sort of innocent determination in her
manner as she sat down opposite him.

"Well? " he said in a way he meant to be en-
couraging, for he thought she must have something
special to say. But his tone of interrogation seemed
to disconcert her.

" I only came in," she said lamely. " This is my
new frock that Gibson has altered. I put it on
because Mr. Ilchester is coming to dinner."

" Do you want to turn his head, then ? " said Dacre,
smiling.

It was a filmy gown; it showed Rosamund's lovely
neck and arms; it was pale sea-green.

" Should you like Parmese violets with it? " said
Rosamund.

" It looks very nice as it is," said Dacre, his atten-
tion fixing itself more on his wife's eyes than on her
draperies.

"Then I won't have the violets. Perhaps you
don't like artificial flowers? "

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" I have never considered the question."

" I wish we could grow Parmese violets. There is
plenty of glass and heat. Do you think we could? "

" I know nothing of such things. Why don't you
tellDobbs to try? "

Rosamund looked at her husband wistfully.

" How kind you are! " she said; " whatever I ask
for you give me."

" Some things are easy to give."

" Some things are easy to ask."

Dacre as he spoke had glanced at the clock and got
up. It was time to go into the drawing-room to Joan
and their guest.

" Have you something to ask? " he said.

The gong sounded as she went up to him.

" I want you to admire my gown," she said.

u I do ... immensely? "

"Does it suit me? "

He opened the door for her to pass out before him.

" You look charming," he said.

As Rosamund walked across the hall she wished she
could run away and hide. She had deliberately made
love to her husband, she had approached him with
the coquetry of voice and glance an innocent woman
has at her command, and he had not responded.
When he told her she looked charming his air had
been sedate and his eye ironical. He had seen
through her tactics, and frustrated them because his
indifference was not counterfeit, but tragically real.

" When Dr. Miiller is annoyed with Beate he throws
a plate at her and has done with it," she said suddenly
to her husband in an undertone. " I suppose you
would call him a savage? "

" I should," said Dacre naturally, rather puzzled
by this abrupt introduction of irrelevant matter. As

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he spoke they were passing the portrait of the trading
Dacre he resembled, and Rosamund lifted a haughty
chin towards it.

" I would rather have to do with Dr. Miiller than
with a man who bears a grudge for twenty years,"
she said.

XXIII

ROSAMUND had a light in her eyes and a colour in her
cheeks. She talked with more vivacity than usual
all through dinner, and Frank Ilchester gazed at her
with the rapt look on his youthful features that once
upon a time Joan had seen there when he gazed at
her. To watch it made Joan feel uneasy, for she
knew from experience what it portended.

Frank Ilchester had inherited a small property
from an uncle too soon for his own good. The manage-
ment of it gave him something to do, but not enough.
He had many idle hours on his hands, and most of
these he occupied with falling in love. His sister,
Mrs. Eastwood, laughed at him mercilessly, but he
always confided in her. She had been obliged to tell
him she never felt sympathetic till tea-time, because
he used to come round after breakfast when she was
busy with her house, her children, and her animals.
He had grown up rather out of reach of Ormathwaite,
and as it happened had never met Joan Dacre until he
came to live at Wangrave. The day after he first
heard her sing he had asked his sister if she thought
he could honourably transfer his affections from Miss
D'Arcy Demain to Miss Dacre. As Miss D'Arcy
Demain had just become engaged to Sir Richard

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Chichester, Mrs. Eastwood could not understand her
brother's scruples, until he explained that his motto
for a man was " one love, one life," and that he feared
lookers-on might think he was falling a little short
of it. As the whole countryside had watched his
vain courtship of Miss D'Arcy Demain, this seemed
likely, but Mrs. Eastwood did not admit it. She
would have been thankful to see her brother steadied
by a marriage with Joan Dacre, and she tried to bring
it about. But though Joan liked the impressionable
boy, she had no idea of giving herself into his unstable
hands. She could not be unkind to any one, so per-
haps at first she misled him a little. His passion had
waxed fast and furious. He developed a voice and
sang duets with her. He followed her to London
and accompanied her to concerts. He proposed to
her whenever she unwarily gave him a chance, on
the moors, in the drawing-room, at last in the Two-
penny Tube. As they emerged from the lift they
had parted, she greatly distressed, and he, to all
appearances, ready to drown himself at once. His
mournful face as he bade her farewell had haunted
her. But he had given her his word not to do any-
thing desperate, and three months later Mrs. East-
wood told her that Frank had met a pretty American
in Surrey, and that he talked of selling his land
and settling in the South of England. Towards
the middle of May, Frank had turned up at home
again a pronounced misogynist. His kind heart
had weighed less with the incomparable Hattie
than a coronet, and she was now the Countess of
Wroxham.

Frank's new views had been ardently held and
promulgated for three weeks when he accepted Joan's
impromptu invitation, given on the Whincliffe road,

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to dine at Ormathwaite to-night and make the ac-
quaintance of the new sister-in-law. He had been
avay when the Eastwoods gave their dinner-party
in honour of the bride, and he had only heard his
sister say that Dacre had brought home a German wife,
and that the hall at Ormathwaite was less like a
poultry-yard than it used to be. Frank did not
expect to be attracted by a German. The word had
no elegant or agreeable associations in his mind. If
he had looked forward at all, he would have expected
something stolid and uncouth. But he accepted
Joan's invitation because he delighted in Joan, and
was sick of sulking at home. He knew Dacre slightly
too, and when he went into the drawing-room at Orma-
thwaite he expected to enjoy himself. He accosted
Joan as cheerfully as if he had never lain awake at
nights for her sake, and was telling her about Hattie's
wedding when his host and hostess came hurriedly
into the room. Then he found himself leading Rosa-
mund across the hall, and making up his mind that
when a man saw reddish-gold hair he forgot light
brown. Hattie's hair had been light brown. But
who was Hattie ? What was she in comparison with
this star risen so suddenly and radiantly on his
firmament? Her eyes were like lakes at even, he
said to himself; her smile magnetised him, her voice
made music. He looked at Dacre, and wondered at
his calmness. Once she spoke to her husband, and
he did not hear. He was engaged at the moment in
carving a duck, and she had to repeat what she said.
He looked up then, and listened to her proposal with
a judicial air, and raised objections to it. The cur-
mudgeon! She wanted to make a rock-garden in a
place that her husband wanted for other purposes,
and he did not yield his point. By the time dessert

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was on the table Frank would have turned all his acres
into a rock-garden if it would have pleased her.

" What does Mr. Ilchester do?" said Rosamund
when she was alone with Joan after dinner.

" He looks after his land."

" Hut he has been away all the winter."

" Yes."

Rosamund looked pensively at her sister-in-law.
She felt concerned for Joan's establishment in life,
although she dreaded Joan's departure from Orma-
thwaite.

" Of course he is very young," she said. " Com-
pared with William he seems a boy."

" He will always be a boy compared with Will,"
said Joan.

" But he seems a nice boy. Is Wangrave a
pleasant house? "

" It might be made so."

Directly Frank came into the drawing-room he sat
down beside Rosamund, and asked her to come to
Wangrave and look at his rock-garden. He admitted
that it was not worth looking at.

" But you might give me some ideas," he said.

" I have none," said Rosamund. " I never even
saw a garden of any size till I came here. But Joan
and I have been reading a book about rock-gardens,
and now that the warm weather has come we thought
it would be amusing to make one."

" Mine has been neglected for years. It wants
remaking and enlarging. I wish you and Miss Dacre
would come to Wangrave and take it in hand."

Rosamund rose to this bait like trout to mayfly.
The young man was not quite what Joan's husband
should be. He was very young, and compared with
Dacre's dark, strong face his fair one looked weak.

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But he was likeable, well off, and a near neighbour.
Rosamund knew by this time that English country
life does not provide a girl with much choice of mates,
and she had not outgrown the belief that a married
woman has a wider life than a single one. Time, she
supposed, would change this boy into a man; it
would probably bring him strength enough for the
easy duties of his station. It never struck Rosamund
that Joan might have weighed him already, and found
him wanting. She had still to discover the delicate
reticence many Englishwomen observe in such cases,
even to their intimate friends.

"When can you come?" persisted Frank; and
before he said good-bye an afternoon visit to Wangrave
was arranged for the following week. He said that
he would ask Mrs. Eastwood to meet the two ladies,
and he suggested that Dacre should accompany them.
" I can't," said Dacre; " I am going to London
that day."

Frank observed Rosamund look up in surprise,
though she asked no question. It was Joan who
asked how long he meant to stay.
" About three weeks," he said.
" Why don't you invite us to go with you? Three
weeks of concerts and opera would be very agreeable.
But if you want me you must wait till my concert is
over."

" I can't wait."

" And you don't want me? Never mind; Rosa-
mund and I will go up by ourselves in July. We will
stay at the Cecil, and go to sales all day and the
theatre every night. Would you consent to that,

Will?"

"No," said Dacre, without any hesitation.
" When is your concert? " asked Frank.
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" The first Friday in July. I want a new sensation
for it, and I can't think of one. I wish I could get
Herr Witt."

" Who is he?"

11 Some one splendid who wouldn't look at us,"
said Joan, sauntering to the piano and sitting down
to sing. A little later Frank got up to go, and Dacre
accompanied him into the hall. Rosamund was in
the drawing-room by herself when her husband
returned there. She had sat down on the hearthrug
and taken her own little fox-terrier into her lap.

" What would happen to all the animals if Joan
went away from Ormathwaite ? " she asked. " Would
she take them with her? "

"Is Joan going away from Ormathwaite?" he
asked absently. He had seen Rosamund look up
with pleasure when he came into the room, and she
sat still on the rug in a way that invited him to stay
and talk to her.

" I suppose she might marry any day."

" Then we should be left to ourselves."

" Yes."

"That would be unfortunate for you."

Rosamund stopped stroking her fox-terrier and
met her husband's eyes, but there was no coquetry,
no personal appeal in her glance now. She felt
sure there never would be again. The dog put out
one of his paws as a hint to her to go on petting him,
and she did so silently.

" But Joan is not at all likely to marry at present,"
said Dacre with decision. " Of course, Ilchester is
out of the question, and there is no one else about
here."

"Why is Mr. Ilchester out of the question? He
seems'a pleasant young man."

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" Oh, he's pleasant enough," said Dacre, who had
a shrewd suspicion of the dead and gone affair
between Frank and Joan.

Rosamund came to the usual feminine conclusion
that men know nothing of such things, even when
they are clever men whom one cannot hope to
persuade or venture to contradict. She had made
up her mind that Joan ought to marry, and that it
would be a happy arrangement for every one con-
cerned to have her settled at Wangrave. Next day
her thoughts were turned for the moment from
match-making by an event of personal interest
and importance.

Her new bicycle arrived from London, and it
arrived when Joan was away at Whincliffe on hers.
Rosamund had learned to ride a little, but she had
never been any distance yet, and she had never ridden
half a mile by herself. She told Dacre that it had
come, and after lunch he went into the drive and
watched her try it.

" You seem pretty safe," he said.

" I think I shall go to meet Joan," said Rosamund.

" Oh, you're not safe enough for that yet," said he.
" And I can't come with you this afternoon. I have
to see Reynolds about those cottages."

He wheeled the machine back into the house for
her, and Rosamund sat in the hall and stared at
its attractive shape and brightness. She longed to
get on again, and she could see no reason against it.
She knew how to mount and dismount, and what
more need a cyclist know? What her husband had
said did not amount to a prohibition. If he thought
it did, perhaps he would be angry, but Rosamund
was in the mood to think even his anger more bearable
than his indifference. She waited a little while,

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and then she took her bicycle into the drive
again.

The drive was broad and winding and nearly level.
A hundred yards from the gate it went slightly down-
hill, and when the pace of the machine suddenly
increased, Rosamund jammed on both brakes in a
hurry, brought it up with a jerk, and finally came
down with the bicycle uppermost. But this trifling
misadventure did not daunt her. She brushed the
gravel from her clothes, and for the first time ven-
tured into the open road. There was nothing in
sight, and for about a mile she knew the way was
level. Her memory of what came next was quite
vague, for she had always travelled over the Whin-
cliffe road in a carriage. At first she rode her machine
slowly and cautiously, then with rapidly increasing
confidence. She had heard Frank Ilchester say
yesterday that cycling was an easy art, and she per-
ceived that he was right. Her husband need not
have distrusted her power over this enchanting
winged machine. Now the road began to ascend and
the wings grew leaden. It was a hill Joan walked,
but Rosamund felt unwilling to get off, in case
getting on again presented unforeseen difficulties.
She pedalled with all her might, arrived panting at
the top, and saw a long, steep descent ahead of her,
with a flock of sheep at the bottom. Perhaps her
misadventure in the drive had made her nervous;
perhaps the strain of holding the brakes was too
great for her strength ; anyhow, the bicycle gathered
speed in a terrifying manner, and in a moment Rosa-
mund found herself dashing down towards the scat-
tered, bleating creatures occupying the whole breadth
of the road. The drivers saw her danger and tried
to herd them aside. A cyclist riding towards her

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shouted something she could not hear. Then he
dismounted, and as he did so he recognised Rosa-
mund in the runaway.

XXIV

FRANK tried to drive the sheep out of Rosamund's
way. The shepherds swore and aided him. But in
a moment the bicycle charged right amongst them,
and lay overturned in the road. Rosamund could
never quite recall what happened. She felt scared,
she heard shouts, she flew towards the crowd of bleat-
ing sheep, she was conscious of a merciless jar and of
a soft wriggling body between herself and the hard
ground. Then she found herself sitting in the hedge
with Frank Ilchester. Her head ached, and she
thought her bones were broken, but she was not sure.
Frank was dusting her skirt with his handkerchief, and
he looked as white as a ghost. The shepherds had
gone on. The ruins of a bicycle lay in the road.

" Did I hurt the sheep much ? " she said.

" Are you hurt yourself ? " said Frank. " Can you
walk as far as the house, do you think? "

"What house?"

" Mine. We are close to it here."

Rosamund still felt a good deal dazed, or she would
have seen that they were just outside the Wangrave
gates.

" I think I ought to get home and send for the
doctor," she said.

" But you can't walk home ... up that long,
steep hill, and then another mile and a half nearly.

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If you could get to my house and rest, and have some
tea, I'll send to Whincliffe at once for the doctor, and
I'll drive you home in the dogcart."

It sounded reasonable, and Rosamund assented.
There was a lodge just inside Wangrave gates, and
Frank left both bicycles there, and sent a little boy
on to the house to order tea. Then he offered Rosa-
mund his arm, and led her slowly along the shady
drive. She was too aching and unhappy to pay
much attention to him. In so far as she could detach
her thoughts from her bruises, she was wondering
what her husband would say to her and her smashed-
up bicycle. The prospect of his displeasure was dis-
quieting now that it had become near and real.

" I wish you would let me carry you," murmured
Frank suddenly. " I am sure you are not fit to
walk."

She had begun to flag, partly through pain and
partly because she was brooding; but this proposal
was so unwelcome that it revived her.

" There is not the least necessity, thank you," she
said. " I believe I could walk home. It is only my
collar-bone, or shoulder, or something that is broken."

"Good heavens!" said Frank. " Is anything
broken? What a terrible idea! We must get a
doctor at once. Are you in great pain? I wish I
knew what to do. Can you bear it ? "

" How can I help bearing it ? " said Rosamund
" Are we far from the house now ? "

They were close to the house, she found, and when
they got there Frank's elderly housekeeper received
them. She took Rosamund upstairs, and helped her
to get trim again, and Rosamund looked about her
with great interest. She thought Wangrave would
make a pleasant home for the lady Frank invited to

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queen it there. It was a plain large grey stone house
with old-fashioned furniture, and rather bare, very
well kept rooms. Rosamund could not imagine
Joan's dogs and cats and birds running wild here as
they still did at Ormathwaite. When she went into
the prim Victorian drawing-room she found tea set
out comfortably in a bay-window, and Frank waiting
to receive her.

" I have sent to WhincMe for Dr. Wain," he said.
" And I have ordered the dogcart to come round in
half an hour."

" It was lucky I met you," said Rosamund, taking
a cup of tea from him.

" You ought not to be riding alone till you can ride
better. You were risking your life to-day. When I
think of it . . ."

" I don't know what my husband will say. It was
my new bicycle."

" He won't think of the bicycle when he hears of
your danger."

Rosamund languidly lifted her cup to her lips.
Her right arm was so stiff by this time that she could
only just manage this. The pain both in her head
and her limbs was increasing, and she began to wish
herself at home in bed.

"I'm afraid you feel very ill," said Frank, watching
her anxiously. " Won't you stay here, and send for
Joan to be here with you? "

For a moment Rosamund considered this invitation,
and Frank saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes
without guessing that Joan's name brought it
there. « t

" A room could be ready in two minutes," he said,
" and my old housekeeper is a first-rate nurse. I
would send for Joan. I am sure the drive back would

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be bad for you if any bones are broken. At any rate,
the doctor ought to see you first. Perhaps he will
not let you move for weeks."

He bent persuasively towards her, his fair boyish
face pink with eagerness; but while Rosamund
hesitated, they both heard a man's voice in the hall,
and before she spoke again her husband entered the
room. She half rose to meet him, and then sank
back amongst the cushions Frank had piled behind
her. One glance at Dacre 's face showed her that
he had heard of what had happened.

" I met your man," he said to Frank as he shook
hands. " He told me there had been an accident,
and that my wife was here. I hope you are not much
hurt, Rosamund."

" I don't know whether I am or not," she said.

" How did you get to the house? "

" I walked."

" Then I hope there is not much the matter," said
Dacre ; and he turned to Frank and thanked him for
looking after his wife. Frank thought his manner
wanting in sympathy, and he felt sure that Rosamund
thought so too. She was looking at her husband as
if she owed him an apology for being injured. Frank
fumed at the notion, and wished he could keep the
beautiful creature under his own roof. But those
intangible influences that depend on temperament
made it impossible to propose such an arrangement
to Dacre. With his arrival the direction of things
seemed to fall naturally into his hands. He asked
Frank to let him have the dogcart at once, and
arranged to send it back with the groom who would
come for his horse. Frank glanced at Rosamund
in the hope that she would speak of his invitation to
her, but she did not open her lips. Then a servant

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came to say that the dogcart had come round, and
Dacre got up to go.

" But the doctor will call here," ventured Frank.

" I think not," said Dacre. " I asked your man to
say that we should be back at Ormathwaite if
possible."

" Perhaps he will say Mrs. Dacre ought to have
stayed here."

" Oh, I hope there isn't much the matter. By the
way, where is the bicycle? "

" At the lodge . . . smashed up," said Rosamund.

Her husband helped her into the dogcart and they
drove off together, while Frank stood at his door and
watched them. If Rosamund had been his wife she
might have smashed twenty bicycles if only she did
not hurt her exquisite self. That was the tone Dacre
should have taken from first to last, but he had fallen
lamentably short of it. Certainly, when he arrived
he had looked haggard with anxiety, and with the
pace at which he had ridden; but he had allowed
his looks to speak for him: his words had been
unkindly inexpressive.

Meanwhile the lodgekeeper had produced the
crumpled bicycle, and was helping Dacre tie it to the
back of the dogcart.

" Will they be able to mend it ? " asked Rosamund
timidly, as they drove at a walking pace up the hill
she had come down so disastrously a little while ago.

" I must have a look at it when I get back," said
Dacre.

Rosamund waited for him to say something more,
and waited in vain.

" Are you angry? " she asked at last.

" I should have been if you had hurt yourself."

" I have hurt myself. My head aches, and my
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shoulder aches, and my elbow is grazed horridly.
Look at my sleeve ... it is all cut near the elbow
. . . and my new bicycle is smashed up. I wish you
had never told me not to ride it."

Dacre stared at his horse's head.

" I don't understand," he said.

" It made me want to," she explained.

The horse had reached the top of the hill, and began
to take the downhill grade, and then the level stretch
of road, at a sharp trot. He was fresh, and for a little
while Dacre had to attend to his driving. Then they
turned into Ormathwaite. As they did so Joan
overtook them on her bicycle.

" What has happened? " she said, slackening her
pace, and looking at the broken machine and at
Frank's dogcart.

" Rosamund tried to ride down Wangrave Hill,
and collided with a flock of sheep," said Dacre.

" Is she much hurt ? " said Joan anxiously. " What
a mad thing to do, Rosamund! What put it into
your head? "

"I'm afraid I did," said Dacre.

" Will! You knew she had never been on the road
at all."

" Yes, I remembered that."

" Yet you let her ride alone . . . down Wangrave
Hill! It sounds very unlike you."

Dacre made no further reply, and Joan, as she kept
beside him in the drive, saw that something had gone
wrong. When they reached the house he helped his
wife down very carefully, but he left it to Joan to
take her across the hall and upstairs.

" What is Will angry about?" said Joan.

" I suppose he is angry with me," said Rosa-
mund.

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" Why should he be?"

" He had told me not to take my bicycle into the
road."

" Then why did you do it ? " said Joan, too much
taken by surprise to be as discreet as usual.

" It's no use trying to please him," said Rosamund,
also off her guard. " I thought I'd displease him
for once and see what happened."

Joan pondered over this admission, but made no
comment on it. When the doctor came his verdict
was reassuring. No bones were broken, not even
those that Rosamund said felt like it. He gave her
a soothing draught, and advised her to stay in bed
for twenty-four hours. In a couple of days she would
be about again.

" Rosamund seems anxious about her bicycle,"
Joan said, as she sat at dinner with her brother.
"Can it be mended? "

" I don't think so," said Dacre.

" It is a miracle she was not more hurt."

" Yes." He waited a moment, and then he said.
" That man of Frank's is a fool. He frightened me
badly,"

Joan thought her brother's face still showed traces
of it. He was paler than usual, and all the lines of his*
face were rigidly set.

" Rosamund thinks you are angry," she ventured.
" I thought so too when I saw you."

" It would be odd if I was not," said he.

" I think she would like to see you," said Joan.
" She looks up whenever the door opens, as if she
hoped it might be you, and I am sure she is dis-
appointed when it is not. It is bad for her to lie
there and fret."

" It is her own fault," said Dacre rather impa-
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tiently. " I told her not to venture into the road
yet. Why did she go straight off. and do it ? "

" She did it to displease you," said Joan.

" Then she has achieved her object," said Dacre.

He poured out a glass of port before he spoke again.
Joan fed the dogs with biscuits, and told Rosamund's
fox-terrier that he should be taken up to his mistress
when dinner was over.

" Are you quite out of your senses, and Rosamund
too ? " said Dacre suddenly. " Why should Rosa-
mund seek to displease me? "

The fox-terrier made a bound into Joan's lap, and
she began to stroke his head softly and regularly,
which was what he desired and expected.

" Go and ask her why," she said to her brother.
" Take Gee up with you. She wants him."

Dacre waited until Joan left the room, and then
he followed her advice. Rosamund's windows were
wide open, the thrushes and blackbirds were still
singing, and the scent of hay came in from the Orma-
thwaite meadows. The fox-terrier was so delighted to
gain admission that he went wild, and scampered
from the bed to the floor and from the floor to the
bed again.

" How are you now? " said Dacre. " I am glad
there is nothing much wrong."

" So am I," said Rosamund. " It is more than I
deserve, isn't it? "

" Much more."

" I am very sorry about the bicycle. Can't it be
mended ? "

" No."

" I should like to pay for it myself, and for a new
one. If I bought no new clothes for a time I could.
I know I have been rather extravagant about clothes

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lately. Somehow my German ones don't do over
here. Why do you stand ? Why don't you take that
chair and sit down? If you wait you will see the
moon rise behind Wangrave Crag. That is why the
curtains are not drawn. I want to see the moonlight
in the sky."

" I am not going to stay another moment," said
Dacre. " Joan said you ought to sleep. But she
seemed to think you had something to tell me."

"I have," said Rosamund; "but you have no
ears to hear."

" What do you mean? "

" I don't mean anything."

Dacre looked at her and hesitated.

" Have you had your soothing draught ? " he said
finally.

To his surprise, Rosamund, who was never petulant,
turned from him with a little cry of vexation and
impatience.

" I had it an hour ago," she said. " The doctor
brought it with him."

" Then you certainly ought to give it a chance and
try to sleep," said Dacre. " Suppose you let me
draw the curtains? You can look at the moon
to-morrow."

She made no reply, and after waiting a moment he
went to the window and shut the evening light from
the room. But then he had to strike a match to
find his way to the door. When he had opened it he
called to the fox-terrier to come with him.

" I hope you'll be better to-morrow," he said to his
wife.

Her response was inarticulate, and he did not try
to interpret it; but he said to Joan that he thought
Rosamund was a good deal shaken, and that if she

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had a temperature to-morrow they must get the
doctor out from Whincliffe again.

" I didn't think she seemed ill," said Joan. " She
was unhappy because you were not pleased."

Her brother glanced at her as if she had said some-
thing that passed his understanding. But he did
not seem anxious to discuss it. He asked her to
sing, and as he sat where she could see him, she knew
that while she sang his thoughts were far away.

XXV

IT was Sunday afternoon at Ormathwaite, and
Rosamund was by herself in the garden. Joan had
gone to take her class at the Sunday-school, and after
that to have tea at the vicarage. Rosamund might
have gone to the vicarage too, but she preferred
the garden. The Vicar and his plain elderly sisters
frightened her. They looked at her hair as if they
thought it wicked, and they showed that her ignorance
of parish matters scandalised them. She had not
been able to tell them how mothers' meetings were
conducted in Germany, or whether there was a G.F.S.
there, or what was the average stipend of a curate.
She had refused with alarm to teach in the Sunday-
school, and though she went to church regularly,
from the parochial point of view she did not take
her proper place as Mrs. Dacre of Ormathwaite. Of
course, as the Vicar's sisters often said to each other,
this was not surprising. Rosamund was a " foreigner "
and had not had the privilege of growing up amongst

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clothing clubs and district visitors. They could not
help wishing that Mr. Dacre had brought a suitable
wife to Ormathwaite. They feared that Rosamund
was rather " flighty " in her ways. They had heard
of the bicycle accident and the subsequent visit to
Wangrave, and thought it " all of a piece." When
the Vicar's sisters were young, Mrs. Dacre of Orma-
thwaite would not have moved out of doors in any-
thing less dignified than a carriage and pair with two
men on the box. Now her son's wife came tumbling
down the hill on a couple of wheels, and had to be
picked up by a shepherd and the young squire of
Wangrave. The Vicar's sisters deemed it unfortunate
that Mr. Dacre lived so much amongst his books and
bottles, while his wife and sister ran wild. They
had their own rigid ideas of a man's duty to his
women-folk, and the master of Ormathwaite fell
short of it.

Of course, no one in that far country neighbourhood
had a suspicion of Dacre 's real place in the world, or
of the work he was doing. If he had lived in a Khirgiz
camp he would have been as justly appreciated by
his surroundings as he was at Ormathwaite. When
he dined with the Royal Society he dined with men
who knew his value and had some vision of his dis-
tinguished future; but when he dined with the East-
woods or Mrs. Fitzurse they thought him agreeable,
but remote. It is difficult for a man of Dacre 's
mental calibre not to appear remote amongst people
whose interests were so far removed from his own.
He had known most of his neighbours all his life, and
he liked them well enough. They liked him uncom-
monly well, but it was for his name, his good looks,
and his honest, steady nature. They were inclined
to make a joke of his bottles and his new laboratory.

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In fact, he was as much alone with his ambitions as
if he had lived amongst savages.

Rosamund sometimes wished her husband was
what she called " an idle man/' like Major Eastwood
or Frank Ilchester. Of course, these gentlemen did
not consider themselves idle ; they pursued the usual
occupations of their kind, and managed to get a good
appetite for dinner every day. But Rosamund knew
that Mrs. Eastwood could see her husband any time
she pleased. The only books in his den were bound
volumes of the Badminton and the Field; and when
he wanted to write a letter he had to hunt round the
house for some ink. He did not mind being inter-
rupted, except when he was in the midst of a nap.
As for Frank Ilchester, he would hang round Orma-
thwaite from morning till night if any one gave him
the least encouragement. He had come up to Rosa-
mund after church to-day and asked her if Joan and
she would be at home this afternoon, and she had
said that they would not. She was surprised that he
asked, as he must have known that Joan took a class
at the Sunday-school, and would afterwards go to teaat
the vicarage. In the country every one always knew
what every one else was doing, and talked about it.

Rosamund sat on a low stone stile dividing the
garden from the copse, and she wished she had a
companion who could talk. It was a clear, windy
afternoon in June; some of the meadows were yellow
with buttercups and some were sweet with hay. The
copses were full of wild hyacinths ; in the garden the
azaleas were in flower, the oak leaves were still young,
and the birds were still singing. The silence and the
lifelessness of an English Sunday afternoon had
fallen on Ormathwaite, and for a time Rosamund
enjoyed the peace of it. No one was at work, no one

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was at play, no one was in sight anywhere. When
she had been out an hour the stable clock struck
three, and she wondered how she could occupy the
two hours till tea-time. If she went indoors she
could read or play the piano, but she did not feel
inclined to do either. She did not feel inclined for
anything within her reach that afternoon. Some-
times she felt homesick — homesick for Fichtenstadt,
for the sights and sounds of its streets, for the familiar
faces, rooms, and voices, for German music, even for
German food. England was a very fine country, she
said rather forlornly to herself, and compared with
her old surroundings, Ormathwaite was a very fine
house. She had more clothes and servants than she
could ever have had at home; she had carriages and
diamonds — all the heart of woman is supposed to
desire. But in her heart none of these things took
a paramount place. Sometimes she felt herself a
sojourner in a foreign land, loved a little by Joan,
accepted by her husband's friends, but not quite at
home yet with them, wishing this afternoon for a
magic carpet that should transport her quick as
thought to Betty's pleasant parlour. At this very
moment Christian Witt probably sat there and played
Beethoven.

" What are you thinking of, Mrs. Dacre ? " said
Frank Ilchester's voice close by. " You look un-
happy.'1

Rosamund looked a little less unhappy directly she
saw him. She made room for him beside her on the
stile before she answered his question, and she gladly
began to talk about Fichtenstadt.

" I was thinking of my old home," she said.

" I hope you don't wish yourself back there."

" Sometimes I do. Sometimes I want my own
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people and my own country. I want the minster
and the market-place, and the old, old villages and
the peasants. Oh, I wish I could see an ox- waggon
with timber, and hear the driver crack his whip! I
wish I could have Horchen with my coffee and a wood
fire. I wish I could just shut my eyes and hear
Christian Witt play. I wonder ..."

"What?" said Frank.

" If my husband would let me go back with Aunt
Betty?"

" Perhaps he would if you told him you were sick
of us all," said Frank moodily. " But is your aunt
coming here ? "

" Possibly," said Rosamund.

From where they sat they could see the edge of the
moor. The shadows chased each other across the
steep face of it, and the sunlight showed each crevice
in the great overhanging rock known as Wangrave
Crag.

" I wonder why you came this afternoon? " said
Rosamund. " I told you I should be out, and this is
not the way to our front-door."

" Dacre has given me leave to use the short-cut to
the moor through his copse. It saves more than a
mile. I am out for a walk."

" I see."

" Come as far as the Crag," said Frank invitingly.
" I will show you where the Osmunda grows."

" Very well," said Rosamund, after a moment's
hesitation. " I have hardly ever been on the open
moor."

" Doesn't Dacre care about walking? "

Rosamund made some evasive reply. She did not
care, to say that her husband both rode and walked
a good deal, but never invited her to go with him.

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" I must be back in time for tea," she said, when
they had ascended the face of the moor and clambered
some way along its ridge. They were still a good
half-hour's walk from Wangrave Crag.

"Why?" said Frank.

She stopped to take breath and look at her watch.

" I can't come any further," she said. " You go
on by yourself."

Frank looked both mortified and disappointed.

" You said you'd come," he pleaded. " What does
tea matter? Have it later . . . when you get home."

But Rosamund had set her heart on getting home
in good time for tea, and on having it alone with her
husband. He always came in for a few minutes, and
to-day Joan would not be there. She had denied
herself to Frank this morning because she did not
want a third person there, and she had started for the
walk with the full intention of getting away from him
as soon as she could.

" I can get back quite well by myself," she said.
" You go on."

" Certainly not," said Frank, and he turned to
accompany her. Rosamund could not pretend to be
glad of his company, and she was determined not to
ask him in to tea.

" My husband goes to London to-morrow for three
weeks," she said. " You must come and dine with
Joan and me sometimes. Are you engaged on
Tuesday? "

Frank said he was never engaged when there was a
chance of going to Ormathwaite, and that Joan had
asked him to lunch there to-morrow. Perhaps Mrs.
Dacre did not know that. Rosamund said she would
be pleased to see him on both occasions, and she
thought she had thereby made it easier to bid him a

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kind farewell just now. When they got to the garden
wall again, she stopped and held out her hand.

" I'll see you through the garden and go back by
the road," said Frank.

" Isn't it pleasanter through the copse? "

" Not when I should miss five minutes' walk
through the garden with you."

Rosamund tried not to show her impatience un-
civilly, and yet she knew that to dismiss him at her
door would be against the hospitable tradition of the
house.

"I'm going to hurry," she said. "I'm late as it is,
and I want to catch my husband before the post goes
out."

" You are forgetting," said Frank; " there is no
post on Sundays."

He was persistent because he was unperceptive.
If he could have seen that Rosamund wanted to be
rid of him, he would have taken himself off at once.
But he thought the delight he took in her society
must find some response. Outside the house Dacre
met them, and at once invited Frank in to tea.
Rosamund preceded the two men into the hall where
the tea was set, and gave her gloomy attention to
the dogs. She had to pour out tea, but she hardly
spoke at first, and Dacre asked if she felt tired.

" Mrs. Dacre wants to ran away from us," said
Frank. " It seems that we have not the fortune to
please her. She wants to go back to Germany, she
says, and see something called a minster and some
one called Christian Witt. Who is Christian Witt,
Mrs. Dacre ? You said you wanted to hear him play.
Is he a musician? "

" Yes," said Rosamund.

She was watching her husband's face with a sense
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of dull disappointment and vexation. She could
read changes in it now that would have been imper-
ceptible formerly, and she knew that its present want
of interest amounted to disapproval.

" We are horribly dead-alive here, of course,"
Frank babbled on. " I don't wonder a stranger gets
sick of it. If you don't take to sport, what is there ?
It's different for you, Dacre, because you've all your
books and bottles. You've a hobby. But when I
described Wangrave to Lady Wroxham, she said it
must be a pleasant place to get away from eleven
months in the year. In fact, she accepted Wroxham
the same week."

" You're quite wrong," broke in Rosamund. "I'm
not sick of the life here. I like it. I've been used to
a quiet life. But, of course, I think of my old home
sometimes, and of the people ..."

Her voice broke slightly, and she stopped in distress.
Frank saw that he had somehow vexed her, and got
up to go. Dacre got up too, and said he would
walk part of the way with him.

" I should like to come too," said Rosamund,
seizing her chance.

Dacre made no objection, and the three set out for
Wangrave by the road. When the husband and wife
turned back towards home, Rosamund proposed to
walk through the Ormathwaite woods.

" It is further," said Dacre.

" But it is pleasanter," said Rosamund. " It is such
a lovely evening, and we never have a walk together."

Dacre opened the gate leading into the woods, and
waited for her to pass through before him. His
manner was not encouraging, but she trusted to the
influences of the place to help her. They came to a
narrow stream where she had often sat lately and

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watched the coming of summer, and she proposed to
sit here now. It was a rushing north-country stream,
a torrent in wet weather, a thread of foam in dry,
with big rocks on either bank, and ferns and wild-
flowers growing to its brim.

" I am tired," she said, finding her favourite rock.
" Are you in a hurry to get back? "

" I have a good deal to do to-night."

" What time do you start to-morrow? "

" At eight."

" I had a letter from Aunt Betty this morning.
I want to ask you about it."

Dacre had not sat down. He was leaning against
a tree not far from Rosamund.

" She wants to come and stay with us. She would
like to come at once. She writes from Paris."

Dacre took the letter his wife had extracted from
a bag at her waist and read it reflectively.

" Well," he said when he had finished, " you must
do as you please about it. I shall be away three
weeks, so I may not see her."

" I should wish her to come. But I was not sure
that you ... I thought you were angry with her."

" Have you forgiven her, then? "

" I don't know what forgiveness means," said
Rosamund, after a little hesitation. " I shall always
think she behaved badly, but I don't want to carry
on a quarrel for ever. I was not born in these dales."

" So when a woman has done you an injury, you
will take her back into your affections directly she
proposes to come. Is that what you mean? "

" She has not done me an injury ... as things
turn out," said Rosamund.

" She is by herself, I suppose," said Dacre, looking
again at the letter, and apparently taking no notice

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of his wife's reply. "She proposes to come by
herself."

" But, of course," said Rosamund; "who should
come with her? "

Her husband's glance called the colour to her
cheeks, and she rose in swift vexation and distress.

"That boy talked nonsense!" she cried. "I
want to see Fichtenstadt and old Luise again. I
don't want to see Christian Witt; indeed, I never
give him a thought now."

" How did Frank know his name, then? "

" I said I should like to hear him play. I never
dreamed he would repeat what I said to you and give
you a false impression."

" Perhaps I had better speak plainly," said Dacre.
" As long as Christian Witt is in Fichtenstadt I shall
not allow you to go back there."

" I don't want to go back there! " cried Rosamund.

"It is as difficult to discover what you want as
what you mean," said Dacre.

He was bitterly disappointed. He pictured her
sitting amongst the sights and sounds of summer
and thinking of Christian Witt. He had fancied her
content at Ormathwaite ; but she wished herself away,
it seemed, and she could not keep the wish from her
lips. Yet she said that her aunt had not done her
an injury, and it was her aunt who had driven her
here.

" But there is no difficulty about what you are to
do," he added, turning towards home. " That was
marked out for you when you consented to marry me."

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XXVI

ROSAMUND walked back to the house with a glow in
her heart. Dacre had shown anger, and he had
spoken with unusual hardness. His voice rather
than his words had startled her to tears. So without
effort or design she had disarmed him, and as they
strolled slowly home his voice had gradually changed
and his manner with it. He laughed at her because
she trod the garden paths in fear and trembling lest
she should come across a frog, and when she gave a
start that threw her against him he drew her arm
through his.

" You won't be away much more than a fortnight,
will you? " she said just before they went in.

" Three weeks, I'm afraid. If I can shorten it a
bit, I will. But you're not nervous, are you? "

" I am not nervous. I hope . . ."

" Come into my room ; I want to give you a cheque.
What do you hope? "

" It is Aunt Betty I think of. I wish you were to
be here."

11 Why ? "

" Oh, to be responsible! "

" You must hold your own," said Dacre. " I
leave you in command."

" I shall be glad when you come back. But I
will hold my own. I can with most people. I wish I
could with you. I believe you would like me better
if I did."

" My dear child," cried Dacre, " I liked you well
enough to marry you . . . what more . . ."

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" You have liked me less and less ever since,"
said Rosamund, with her eyes on the carpet.

" That is not true," said her husband. He was
sitting at his writing-table, and had taken his cheque-
book from a drawer. Before he spoke again he filled
in a cheque, tore it off, and gave it to her. " In
what way do you consider yourself oppressed? " he
asked.

" In no way," said Rosamund hurriedly.

The waning light fell on his face as he turned
towards her, and she saw the irony in his eyes that
always both baffled and attracted her. But he said
nothing more.

Next day he went to London, and Rosamund
wrote to Betty, telling her to come when she pleased.
Two days later a telegram announced Betty's arrival
on the following morning at six o'clock. She evi-
dently meant to come straight through from Paris,
and travel from London by the midnight express.
When the telegram was brought to Rosamund both
Joan and Frank were there, but there was nothing
unusual in that. On Monday Frank had come to
lunch, and loafed about the garden all the afternoon.
Next day he brought Rosamund some plants for her
new rockery, and stayed to put them in. After
lunch he had given her a lesson on Joan's bicycle,
and assured her that if she would accept another
lesson on the following day she would ride without
touching her handle-bar by the afternoon. He had
dined and spent the evening with the two young
ladies, and now, on Wednesday afternoon, he was
having tea with them in the garden. Joan had been
obliged to absent herself a good deal, because the
bob-tailed puppy was ill and required her attention.
This was not what Rosamund wanted, but she did

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her best to entertain Frank, and said nothing to dis-
courage his visits. She was rather surprised he took
so little interest in the puppy's illness. When she
suggested that he should visit the stables with Joan
and give his opinion, he said he was sure he would
have none, and that they ought to wire to Whincliffe
for the vet.

" The train arrives at six," said Rosamund. " It
is an hour and a half's drive. I must order the
carriage at 4.15. I shall have to get up at four
o'clock."

"What?" said the two English people simul-
taneously.

" I must go and meet her," said Rosamund.
" Certainly I must go and meet her."

" I believe that if Will was here he would wire to
Whincliffe for a cab to meet her. He would never
let you drive all that way in the middle of the night.
I should like to see York's face when you order the
carriage."

" I might go on your bicycle," said Rosamund.
" Would you lend it me ? "

" Of course I would, but I won't ... if you know
what I mean. I'll lend it you at a reasonable hour
. . . not at four o'clock in the morning."

" You don't know how easy it is to offend Aunt
Betty," said Rosamund; and when tea was over she
took Joan's bicycle into the road, and showed Frank
that she now knew how to ride it down Wangrave
Hill. Then she rode it into the village, and sent a
telegram to some Whincliffe livery stables, as Joan
had advised. She did not ask Frank to dine that
night, and she went to bed at nine o'clock.

At four o'clock next morning Frank Ilchester was
waiting with his bicycle at the top of Wangrave Hill,

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and at ten minutes past four he saw Rosamund
gliding towards him.

" You! " she cried, as if she could hardly believe
her eyes. " Do you expect some one by the six
o'clock train, then? "

" Yes," said Frank, as he began to ride beside her.

" I stole out of the house like a thief," said Rosa-
mund. " Isn't it a lovely morning? Why do we
ever wait for the day to be stale ? In future I shall
often ride at this time."

" I will if you will," said Frank. " It's rippin'."

They were just beginning the descent of Wangrave
Hill now, and Rosamund gave her whole attention
to the management of her brakes. After this the
gradient was easy for several miles, and as they rode
they talked, chiefly about bicycles. Frank did not
say a sentimental word, and his manner misled
Rosamund, it was so frank and friendly. She had
no suspicion that he had wasted most of Monday
morning trying to get glimpses of her in the garden
from the top of Wangrave Fell.

Although the mill hands were on their way to
work already, Whincliffe itself seemed still asleep
as they rode through it. The shops were shut, the
blinds were drawn, and hardly any one was in the
streets. Outside the railway-station they found the
cab Rosamund had ordered, but no other was in
sight.

"What will your friend do for a cab?" said
Rosamund, when they had dismounted and were
waiting on the platform.

"My friend?"

" I thought you came to meet some one ? "

" I came to meet your aunt."

Rosamund was taking a bunch of roses from her
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bicycle basket, and as she did so the train steamed
into the station. She had no time to answer Frank.
She saw her aunt directly, and ran forward with her
roses and an affectionate greeting. At the moment
Betty stood for Fichtenstadt and all old associations,
and she really felt glad to see her. Of course, eight
months had not altered Betty, and it was the aunt
who looked at the niece with swift perception of
change. She expressed surprise at seeing Rosamund,
and when Frank was presented she said she had not
known that English people kept such early hours.

" We don't as a rule," said Frank. " In fact, I've
never had a ride at this time of day before."

" Is Mr. Dacre here too ? " said Betty to the young
man.

Rosamund was speaking to the porter who had
taken her aunt's hand luggage.

" He's in London," said Frank.

Betty, without seeming to do so, took his measure
at once ; noted his intimate friendly manner with her
niece; wondered how near Ormathwaite he lived. ;

" So your husband is away," she said, when
Rosamund and she had driven off together; for
Rosamund had been obliged to admit that ten miles
on a bicycle had been rather more than enough for
her inexperienced muscles. Besides, as she explained
to Frank, it was more polite to her aunt to go back in
the cab.

"He is away for three weeks," said Rosamund.

" Then I shall hardly see him, for I have only come
for three weeks. How unfortunate! Is your sister-
in-law still with you ? "

" Yes."

" Don't you find that rather trying ? "

" No," said Rosamund; " I am very fond of Joan."

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" Why doesn't she marry? "

" She has never told me."

Betty looked contemplatively at Frank, who rode
near the cab and talked through the window now and
then. Then her glance returned to her niece.

" You have changed a good deal," she said. " You
look more than eight months older. How do you like
English life ? Is it as dull as they say ? Don't you
miss the music? Christian Witt is in Paris, and he
may go on to London. He plays better than ever.
It has been a joy to hear him all through the winter.
Do you get any music here . . . good or bad ? "

" Joan sings to us," said Rosamund.

Betty's glance wandered towards the hay fields
and the line of fells beyond them.

" More cows than artists, I presume," she said,
with a little yawn. And then she began to talk
about Fichtenstadt and the recent adventures of
their various friends. But when they began to crawl
slowly up a hill, Frank got off his machine and walked
beside them.

" What are you going to do this morning? " he
said. " You won't forget that I expect you all to
tea at Wangrave this afternoon? "

Rosamund said she thought her aunt would be too
tired to go out to tea, but Betty inquired where
Wangrave was, and accepted Frank's invitation.

" It will be like a page from an English novel, I
am sure," she said. " There will be a large, smooth
piece of grass, and little tables, and hot cakes, and
curates— will there not, monsieur? "

" We only have one curate," said Frank,
get him if I can. The other things will be there all

right."

" I set my heart on the curate," cried Betty, as

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they parted from Frank at the foot of Wangrave Hill.
" I have always wanted to see something of English
country life," she said to her niece. " How did you
get through the winter? You look very well. You
are no good at all as a letter-writer. You tell one
nothing, and you don't even answer questions. If
I asked you once how you got on with your house-
keeping when you were first married, I asked you a
dozen times. What a long drive you have! How
many gardeners do you keep ? If you were anything
of a correspondent I should know all these things.
I begged you to send me a photograph of the house,
but you never did. What a big, rambling place it is !
In Germany we should call it a palace. Really, you
are a very lucky girl, Rosamund, to have married a
home like this, and I suppose I gave you a jog towards
it. There is Miss Dacre at the front-door. How
badJy she does her hair, and what has she got in her
arms ? "

" It is a pet goose," said Rosamund, who had left
most of her aunt's questions unanswered. " Joan is
always surrounded by animals."

A little later, when Betty came down to breakfast,
she found her niece, Joan, and the old butler engaged
in coaxing a magnificent peacock, who stood with his
tail outspread in the middle of the table. With one
or two strokes of it he had dealt ruin on either side of
him. By the time he had been captured and fresh
food and china brought it was nearly ten o'clock.
Joan observed that she had a busy day before
her.

" Don't forget that Mr. Ilchester expects us to tea,"
said Rosamund.

" He has promised me hot cakes and a curate,"
said Betty.

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Joan looked up with some surprise.

" Have you seen him already ? " she said.

Betty helped herself to butter, and left her niece
to reply. She could not detect embarrassment in
Rosamund's manner, but she thought Joan received
the story of the morning's ride with a want of com-
ment that was noticeable. At lunch-time she said
that she had to see Mrs. Eastwood that afternoon,
and would come on to Wangrave with her. Betty
and Rosamund must please not wait for her, as she
might be a little late.

" Would you like to walk, or shall we drive, Aunt
Betty?" said Rosamund.

" If you want me to keep my temper, you'll drive,"
she said. " I always lose it on a dusty road."

When Betty and Rosamund got to Wangrave they
found Frank waiting about for them in front of the
house. Mr. Sidmouth, the curate of Ormathwaite,
was with him, and was presented to Betty. He had
pleasant manners, and was tall, and fair, and athletic-
looking. Betty sat down and let him talk to her.
The hot cakes arrived, but she did not eat many.
Rosamund heard her describing French and German
ancient brasses. She was peculiarly interested in
ancient brasses, she said. Before she had finished tea
she had arranged to meet Mr. Sidmouth at the church
gates next day and look at those in Ormathwaite
Church. Presently she said she felt chilly, and would
like to walk about the garden. A little later, when
Mrs. Eastwood arrived with Joan, they found no one
to receive them. The tea - tables were there, and
Frank's setter had just finished a plate of sandwiches,
but the chairs were empty. The butler looked round,
and said something about the kitchen-garden.

" All right," said Mrs. Eastwood, who felt quite at
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home in her brother's house. " We'll help ourselves,
Marsh."

She poured out tea for Joan, and they sat together
for a time. Then they said they would look for the
others.

" What is the German aunt like? " said Mrs. East-
wood. " Spectacles and plaits? "

" Oh dear no! " said Joan. " She seems to me
more French than German. Indeed, she is not Ger-
man. She comes from Vienna. I suppose Austrians
are different. She is pretty and elegant, and she
has a way with her."

" Poor Frank! " said Mrs. Eastwood.

They walked through the grounds till they came to
the wild-garden, where there were shady corners and
seats, and in one of these they found Betty and Mr.
Sidmouth. Betty had to be presented to Mrs. East-
wood, and the two women looked at each other with
instant mutual antagonism. It was impossible to say
that Betty was unsuitably dressed. Nothing could
have been plainer than her champagne-coloured linen,
nothing neater than her little burnt straw hat trimmed
with wheat-ears and small poppies. But the hang of
her skirt, the cut of her coat, the coquetry of her neck-
gear, her gloves, her boots, her sunshade — who shall
depict them? Mrs. Eastwood had come on her
bicycle in an old grey skirt, brown shoes, and a
tumbled white blouse. She was too massive to wear
white at all. A loosely-fitting white looked grotesque
on her. She wore a battered Panama hat that she
had cleaned herself, and which was now shapeless
enough for a nigger minstrel on Margate sands.

" Is this your first visit to England? " said Mrs.
Eastwood.

" Not if you reckon a London hotel England," said
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Betty. " I have never been in a country place
before/'

" I hope you'll have fine weather," said Mrs. East-
wood ; and after the exchange of a few further remarks
equally original and interesting, she turned away with
Joan and walked towards the kitchen-garden. There
they found Frank on his knees in a strawberry-bed
trying to find ripe strawberries for Rosamund. When
he saw his sister he was full of apologies.

" I quite forgot you were coming," he said.

XXVII

AT the end of ten days Rosamund thought that she
was not holding her own as well as she should have
done. Betty still treated her like a child, and Joan
was so guileless that she played into Bett3''s hands.
Mr. Sidmouth and Frank Ilchester were for ever
about the house now, and they did not come by Rosa-
mund's invitation. She got rather tired of seeing
them, but she did not like to say so. Joan had always
asked whom she pleased to Ormathwaite, and in
some ways was still more mistress there than Rosa-
mund. She still superintended the garden, the coach-
man came to her for orders, the village folk for help.
Until Betty came the system had worked smoothly.
Rosamund had never felt jealous of her sister-in-law,
and Joan had readily ceded the indoor housekeeping,
which she had never liked and never done well. But
somehow Betty's arrival made a difference. She
seemed to emphasise the fact that Rosamund was a

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cipher and to be amused, but not surprised to find
it so.

Rosamund wished more and more for her husband's
return, and she wandered about by herself a good
deal, always thinking of him. She spent hours by the
stream and in the wood, where they had been together
last Sunday ; and, like a love-sick girl, she tried to
recall every tone of his voice and every change in his
face. She found her own company pleasanter than
any one else's, and she was glad that Betty had seen
fit to strike up an ardent friendship with Joan.

Poor Joan was in a distracted state just now, and
grateful for Betty's vivid interest and sympathy.
Her grand charity concert was advertised in all the
local papers for a week hence, and meanwhile every-
thing to do with it was going wrong. Her pianist
had sprained her wrist, her soprano was down with
laryngitis, and the village glee-singers squabbled more
than they practised. Her star insisted on singing
the Erl-King, and Joan did not know who could
play the accompaniment. It was quite beyond her
own powers. Then a main feature of the entertain-
ment was to have been a duet on two pianos. That,
it seemed, must fall through altogether.

" I really don't know what to do," said Joan. " Is
it any use to order the second piano ? I was going to
have them both brought on Monday, so that there
could be some rehearsals."

The post had just come in, bringing a letter from
Christian Witt to Betty, and a disastrous account of
the pianist's sprained wrist to Joan. They sat at the
open windows of Joan's room together, and Betty felt
rather bored. She had been ten days now in an
English country house, and mighty dull she thought
it. Frank Ilchester came in and out a great deal, but

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he only had eyes for Rosamund — quite scandalous
eyes, Betty said to herself, for Rosamund. Mr. Sid-
mouth came too, but after the first few days Betty
took a dislike to his voice. It got on her nerves, and
she nearly said " Amen " to him when he offered her
bread-and-butter. Apparently, there were no other
single men in the neighbourhood, and Major East-
wood, the only married man she had seen, had a red
neck and talked about shorthorns.

" But if you were going to have a duet on two
pianos your accompaniments are safe," she said.
" You must have a second pianist."

Joan shook her head.

"It is Mr. Sidmouth," she said. " He could not
play the Erl-King."

"Allmachtiger!" cried Betty. "I've heard him
play. His fingers knock the keys like drumsticks."

" He has spent the whole winter and spring learn-
ing his part of that duet . . . but he is no use for
anything else. What am I to do? All the tickets
are sold. People are coming from far and wide . . ."

" To hear Mr. Sidmouth play the piano? How
amiable! What are you going to sing ? "

" Rubbish," said Joan sadly. " We daren't have
much good music. People don't like it. Mr. Sid-
mouth was so set on this duet I hadn't the heart to
deny him. But I have put a patter song in front
and a comic recitation behind to make it go down.
People get so fidgety over anything classical."

" I should get fidgety myself if I had to hear Mr.
Sidmouth flounder through a Mozart sonata," said
Betty. " Let him read something instead. I'm
sure he loves the sound of his own voice."

" But he has taken such pains with this duet.
You know he has a theory that music is solely a

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question of taking pains. He says he was born
unmusical."

" I should have guessed it," said Betty dryly.
Then she opened Christian's letter and read it through
again. " Do you remember Christian Witt?" she
said to Joan.

" Very well indeed," said the girl.

" He says something about you in this letter."

" Does he remember me, then? "

" He asks after the lady with the angel's voice.
He would like to hear you sing the Sapphic Ode again."

"Where is he now? "

" In London. He is conducting there to-morrow
night."

Joan looked at Betty and Betty looked at Joan.
The same thought was in both minds, but Joan did
not like to utter it. The grand charity concert, Mr.
Sidmouth's duet, the village glee-singers, all the
trumpery programme, suddenly seemed to wither.
The name and memory of Christian Witt had
blasted it.

" He never would, he never could . . ."murmured
Joan.

" I believe he would ... if I asked him," said
Betty. " He has come further than this for me. As
for the concert, it might amuse him to take it in
hand. There is only one thing ..."

Joan looked up, ready for any sacrifice.

<: I cannot see Christian playing a duet with Mr.
Sidmouth," said Betty. " You don't want the poor
young man murdered."

"If he comes and will help us he shall be com-
mander-in-chief," said Joan.

" He would be that at once willy-nilly," said
Betty. " It is his metier."

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" But it is impossible to believe that he will come."

" Let us go down to the village and send a reply-
paid telegram at once. I suppose you can put him
up here? "

" Of course."

Betty sat down and composed her telegram. She
told Christian what was wanted of him and how to
come, and she said she would meet him at Whincliffe
on Monday.

" We won't say a word to Rosamund," she sug-
gested. " Let us surprise her. Can you have the
room got ready without her knowledge ? "

" Easily."

" I will drive to Whincliffe after lunch on Monday
to see the castle, and I will come back with Christian
Witt. She will be delighted."

" But what will you say if she proposes to go with
you?"

" There is no fear of that. Mr. Ilchester has to be
away from home from Saturday till Monday morn-
ing. He will have made some plan that brings him
to see Rosamund on Monday afternoon."

Joan felt rather startled, and showed it in her
glance, but she said nothing. Frank certainly had
been ingenious lately in finding excuses for coming
to the house, and she thought the very dogs might
see that it was Rosamund who attracted him. He
was giving a dinner-party at Wangrave on the night
after the concert, and though he had an efficient
housekeeper and a sister close by, he consulted the
young mistress of Ormathwaite morning, noon, and
night about his arrangements. It was in vain that
she told him she knew nothing about giving dinners
in England. Once he rode over to show her various
menu-cards; another time she must needs go to tea

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at Wangrave to decide whether his flowers should
be in glasses or in silver bowls and vases. He would
be obliged to her (one morning) for the recipe of a
German sauce; by the afternoon his cook had tried
it, and it had gone wrong. Perhaps, if Rosamund
came to dinner and saw it, she could explain why.

" I never saw such an idle young man," said Betty,
still harping on Frank as she walked into the village.
" He seems to have nothing to do but to fuss over
menu-cards and sauces. Why doesn't he get married
and leave such things to his wife? "

" I have never known Frank trouble about such
things before," said Joan.

" You mean he just makes any excuse to hang
round Rosamund," said Betty, who in ten days had
picked up the English idiom with characteristic
quickness.

Joan felt distressed. She had not meant to say
anything that could be so interpreted.

" We none of us take him seriously here," she
murmured.

Betty gave a little shrug, and walked into the post-
office. As she came out of it with Joan they met
Frank Ilchester.

" Can I do anything in Whincliffe for you this
afternoon? " he said. " I am going to take my bike
there to be repaired."

Joan thanked him, but said they were sending
in themselves. Rosamund was shopping in Danby,
and the carriage would have to fetch her from the
station.

"Did you have a very dull drive back?" said
Betty to her niece at dinner-time.

" How could it be dull such a lovely evening? "
said Rosamund. " But I was not alone. Frank

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Ilchester came to the station and asked me to give
him a lift. He had ridden in on his bicycle, and
left it for repairs."

Betty's silence was expressive. At any rate,
Joan understood it, and was troubled. She began
to wish her brother back.

" How is Will getting on in London? " she said to
Rosamund. " What do you hear from him ? "

" He is very well. Aunt Betty, have you seen
Joan's tame rabbit? He runs about the table and
nibbles the dessert if we let him. Do have him in,
Joan. I am sure it would amuse Aunt Betty to see
him."

" Provided you don't ask me to eat nibbled dessert,"
said Betty, whose curiosity about her niece's marriage
was not put to rest by Rosamund's evasion.

Dacre had only written once to Rosamund since
he left, and however often Rosamund read his letter,
she could not make much of its business-like lines.
He gave her his address; he told her he had bought
a new lawn-mower; he asked her to send him a
pamphlet, and explained where she would find it;
he hoped Joan's concert would be a success, and he
sent his love to Joan. That was all. Rosamund
read it and re-read it, and finally thought the address
more intimate and consoling than the letter. " Mrs.
Dacre . . . Ormathwaite. ..." She had got used
to her name on the lips of strangers, but to hear her
husband use it, to see it in his writing, still gave her
a thrill. When she looked for the pamphlet she
lingered in his room, sat down in the chair opposite
his, and tried to fancy him there. She had so vivid
a fancy that this exercise of it grew into a pleasure,
and she often spent some time in the lonely room,
happier with the phantom of her husband than with

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the real people who diverted her thoughts from him.
She took care that no one else should see her come
in here, and when she had shown Betty the whole
house she had just opened this door and closed it
again.

" Whenever Mr. Ilchester is not here Rosamund
moons about by herself," said Betty on Monday
morning. " She is hardly ever with us. I might be
your guest, not hers."

Joan was giving half her attention to Betty and
half to a puppy who was to be kept out of the room
and had made up his mind to come in. Whenever
he wriggled over the threshold of the low window
his mistress gently shoved him back into the garden,
and this happened about twice a minute. He was
an absurd little creature with a white head and a
black body, and Betty thought him both hideous and
a nuisance.

" No doubt she misses her husband," she continued
pensively. " I suppose when he is at home they
are always together. Why didn't she go with
him?"

Joan knelt down on the floor, lifted up the pup,
kissed him, cuffed him, and put him back in the
garden.

" Isn't he a beautiful darling? " she cried. She
got back into her chair and looked at Betty with her
friendly smile. She thought Betty admirable and
bewitching, but she wished she would not talk about
Rosamund and Will. Joan was not happy about
them herself, and she did not like to see Frank
Ilchester so much in her sister-in-law's company,
because she knew the countryside had eyes too,
and would gossip. That drive back last Friday, for
instance, must have excited comment, in Whincliffe

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and out of it. She felt indignant with Frank for his
want of consideration.

" I can hardly believe that Herr Witt is really
coming to-night," she said. " To think that I
should hear that splendid playing again! I wonder
what Rosamund will say when she sees him ? "

Betty wondered too. She had often spoken of
Christian to her niece, and had found her ready to
respond. Rosamund neither avoided the musician's
name nor sought it. It was the same when Betty
talked of Frank Ilchester. But the moment she
mentioned Dacre it was not the same. Rosamund
shut herself up or changed the subject with unskilful
abruptness. This morning she had looked radiant
when the post brought her a letter from her husband.

" He will be home this week," she said to Joan.

"Which day?"

" He isn't sure yet ; as soon as he can. He has got
through more quickly than he expected."

Joan looked delighted. Betty pricked up her
ears.

" Will your brother object to finding Christian
Witt in his house? " she asked when they were by

themselves.

"Surely not," said Joan, looking surprised. ' Why

should he object?"

Directly the letter came Rosamund tried to prepare
for her husband's return. Unfortunately, there was
nothing whatever for her to do. She could fill the
rooms and the hall with fresh flowers, but she would
have done that in any case next day, when some
of Joan's helpers were coming to dinner. Towards
evening she went into his study and sat down there.
She had been playing croquet with Frank Ilchester
ever since lunch, and had only just got rid of him.

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Joan was still in the garden. Betty had driven in
to Whincliffe. She had arranged to do this without
consulting Rosamund or asking for her company,
and it was the second time she had done so. As
Rosamund watched her start, she felt again that
she was not holding her own very well. She looked
round the study, and wondered whether Dacre would
mind if she brought some flowers here. The walls
were lined with books, many of them from her father's
library. Her thoughts went back to her father and to
the days when Dacre had worked with him in Fichten-
stadt. How little she had known of the Englishman
then and of his home surroundings! How little, in
a sense, she knew of him now. She did not know
whether he would be pleased if she put flowers on his
table, and yet she had been married to him nearly a
year. She wished she knew which night he was coming
so that she could put on the gown that suited her
best.

The sounds of arrival and of voices in the hall
arrested her thoughts. She sprang to her feet, then
waited, puzzled and disturbed. That was a man's
voice, unmistakably a man's voice, one known to
her, but not one she had heard of late. A jolly laugh
mingled with the doubtful welcome of Joan's dogs
as Rosamund opened the door, hardly trusting her
ears, hardly believing her eyes. At first she did not
smile; till Christian Witt had both her hands in his
she did not speak.

" Well," he cried, " aren't you glad to see me . . .
child? But you are a child no longer. Du machst
wohl Jung und Alt begehrlich, wenn du so schon
erscheinst."

" I didn't know you were coming. They didn't
tell me," stammered Rosamund.

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" We knew it would be a pleasant surprise," said
Betty.

But Joan felt uneasy. Rosamund's evident con-
sternation troubled her.

XXVIII

DINNER was over, and Rosamund sat by the open
window in Joan's sitting-room while Christian played.
Joan sat a little way from the piano, where she could
best see the player's hands. It gave her as much
pleasure to watch him as to listen, and her face was
rapt and quiet. Betty was stealthily looking at a pile
of London sale catalogues that had come by the even-
ing post. She did not dare to crackle the leaves as
she turned them, and she had been rather surprised
that Christian had said nothing when he saw them in
her hands. But she had discovered at dinner that
Christian Witt had neither eyes nor ears for her
that night. If Joan's village concert had been the
Baireuth Festival he could not have taken a deeper
interest in its success or accepted the thorny post of
director with greater zeal. By the time dessert was
on the table he had reorganised the programme and
swept away some of the rubbishy items that formed
the greater part of it.

" What is this? " he cried. " / wandered o'er the
sun-kissed Mis. Song from The Motor Girl, by
Reggie Brown. Nonsense! You are not going to
waste yourself on Mr. Reggie Brown. I know exactly
what you will sing. After dinner I will tell you, and
every day till the concert you will practise with me.

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For the others I cannot speak. There is no time to
teach them. But as far as we can we will give people
what is good."

" They will say it is ' stiff,' " murmured Joan. " If
they are disagreeable they will say it is ' stuffy. ' '

" I do not understand English slang, so I shall not
grieve," said Christian. " Now, there is this duet by
Mozart for two pianos. Who is to play it ? "

The three women looked at each other.

"It is Mr. Sidmouth, the curate, who was to have
played it with the lady who has sprained her wrist,"
volunteered Rosamund.

" I suppose he is to play it with me, then ? "

" Heaven have mercy on him! " whispered Betty.

Christian heard what she said. There was an
awkward silence. Then Joan looked straight at the
German and spoke.

" I wish you would play it with him," she said.
" He has worked at it all the winter, and if we throw
him over he will feel pained and humiliated."

" Is he very bad? " said Christian.

" Very bad," said Joan, with a sigh. " His time is
awful, and his touch is worse. He slurs his runs and
muddles his bass, and never takes his foot off the loud
pedal."

Christian gave a little growl, and then looked at
Joan. Her gentle ways, her dark, level brows, her
low voice, all enchanted him. She never seemed to
be thinking of herself at all, and until he met her
he had not believed a pretty woman could be so
guileless.

" I will play it with him," he said, nodding at her.
" I will make him keep his foot off the pedal, and
perhaps I can make him keep time. For the rest,
three days is not enough."

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" A lifetime would not be enough in this case," said
Betty.

After dinner Christian had got up when the ladies
did and followed them into Joan's room. He had
had wine enough, he said. Now he wanted music.
To-morrow, when strangers were there, he would show
them that he knew how to behave.

" You have a beautiful home," he had said suddenly
to Rosamund as they crossed the hall. " Are you
happy in England, child? When is your husband
coming back ? I should like to see him again."

" He may be back any day," said Rosamund.

There was an involuntary quiver of hope and
pleasure in her voice that Christian's quick ears noted.
He looked at her and smiled. Then he sat down to
the piano and played a little, and then Joan sang.
She began by singing the Sapphische Ode :

" Rosen brach ich Nachts mir am dunklen Hage:
Siisser hauchten Duft sie, als je am Tage,
Doch verstreuten reich die bewegten Aeste
Thau der mich nasste."

After that Joan had sung other things, and then
Christian had begun to play again. But it was the
slow, passionate setting of the ode that made music
in Rosamund's soul. And outside in the midsummer
garden the flowers, the birds, and the still, warm air
were calling her. The heavy scent of lilies came in at
the window, and with it the fresh scent of mignonette.
The hedges in the road were covered, she knew, with
the deep-red wild-roses of Northern England; the
little moon had just floated into the heavens behind
Wangrave Crag. Rosamund slipped unseen into the
garden and stood there. It was full of flowers:
carnations and roses and larkspurs, honeysweet peas,

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tall yellow evening primroses, snap - dragons and
Canterbury bells. But it was the wild-roses Rosa-
mund thought she would gather and set on her
husband's table. She walked slowly down the drive,
looking for stars in the sky. The birds were hushed ;
the breeze had fallen; far away in the Wangrave
woods she heard an owl calling. As she got further
from the house she lost the sound of the piano, and
when she reached the gates she found that the road
was deserted. Rosamund did not venture out there
till she had made sure of this.

Then she saw a great cluster of wild honeysuckle
in the hedge, and gathered a few sprays of it, that
she fastened in her waist-band. Then she began to
gather her roses. But her gown was a long one, and
she was too dainty a creature to let it touch the road.
She had to hold it over one arm, and that hindered
her. The briars had thorns, and unless she was care-
ful they scratched her. She had only got a few roses,
when the sound of wheels coming from Whincliffe
startled her. It might be strangers, and they would
pass her by ; it might be some one who knew her, and
they would stare ; it might be her husband, and what
would he say if he found her wandering on the high-
road at this time of night? She stood close to the
hedge, and did not stir; but she knew that in the
moonlight her white gown would betray her to any
one who chanced to look her way. As the cab came
near she saw that it was an open one, and that a man
sat inside. She took a step forward as she saw that
the man was Dacre. At the same moment he saw
her, uttered an exclamation of surprise, and stopped
the cab just beyond her. She heard him send the
driver on, and then she saw him coming down the road
to meet her.

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" Rosamund," he said, " why are you out here? "

She had gone towards him, and the moonlight, as
well as her delight at seeing him, made her bold.

" My hands are full," she said.

The invitation was direct and innocent. So was her
uplifted face and the little thrill of appeal in her voice.
She was wooing him, and Dacre could not resist her.

" Rosamund," he said again, and there, in the
empty road, in the deep shadow of the hedge, he
kissed her. A low cry of joy escaped his wife as she
clung to him.

" I have missed you so," she said. " Next time
you go away take me with you."

They walked slowly along the road and turned
in at their own gates. The returning cab passed
them by.

" How have you got on? " said Dacre when they
were beyond the clatter of its wheels again. " And
what are you doing alone out here at this time of
night?"

" I was gathering roses for your room," said
Rosamund. " ' Rosen brach ich Nachts mir am
dunklen Hage.' Joan sang the Sapphische Ode . . .
and it made me want to come and gather roses . . .
at night ... for you. . . . And they are very
very sweet . . . and they are wet with dew. . . .
Will you have them? "

" You heard Joan sing, and you came out into the
night to gather roses ... for me," repeated Dacre.
" But the Sapphic Ode is a love-poem, Rosamund.
I don't think you understand. You have always
had pretty ways . . . and I suppose because I was
coming back you thought some flowers . . . don't
cry, child . . . why are your eyes full of tears?
What have I said? . . . What . . . what the devil

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. . . who is at Ormathwaite? Who is playing like
that? "

Through a changing scale of surprise and doubt and
tenderness, Dacre's voice had reached angry amaze-
ment. From the open windows of Joan's room came
the clash of the Walkurenritt. Dacre took his arm
from Rosamund's shoulder and stood still.

" Who is at Ormathwaite? " he said again.

" Christian Witt," said Rosamund.

All the light died out of her face as she watched the
tenderness die out of his, and he saw that she wanted
to say more, but at first was too much moved to
speak.

" When did he come? " he asked.

" To-night, before dinner. Aunt Betty and Joan
invited him by telegram without consulting me."

" They had no business to do so."

" Joan meant no harm. Aunt Betty told her I
should think it a pleasant surprise; but I didn't,
because I was afraid that you ..."

" Couldn't you have stopped it? "

" Until I heard his voice in the hall I had no idea
that he was coming. It was impossible to turn him
away."

" Oh, of course," said Dacre; " we must make the
best of it."

The roses drooped in Rosamund's hands, and she
hung behind her husband when they had entered the
house. He went first to his study, and as he turned
to shut the door he saw her on the threshold.

" I shall want something to eat," he said in a
matter-of-fact way. " I think I'll have it before I
see the others."

He rang and gave his order, while Rosamund stood
on the hearthrug, uncertain of her welcome, unwilling

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to go. She had asked for water for her roses, and
when it was brought she arranged them in a little jar
and set them on the writing-table. The Walkuren-
ritt had come to an end. There was no sound of music
now in the quiet house. Dacre was sitting in the
chair to which, in his absence, Rosamund had called
his ghost. She sat down opposite, and looked at him
wistfully. The ghost had been easier to approach
and conciliate.

"What have you been doing in London? " she
asked.

" I've been seeing publishers and choosing plates,"
he said. " The first volume of your father's book
will be out in the autumn."

" It is your book, too, isn't it? "

" The second volume will be. This is almost
entirely your father's work ... as he left it."

" I wish he was alive to see it," she said.

" I wish for your sake, too, that he had lived," said
Dacre. He got up as he spoke, and turned over a
heap of bills and circulars waiting for him on his
writing-table. Then he went upstairs.

Rosamund did not go back to Joan's room. She
heard the sound of an arrival, and then Frank
Ilchester's voice in the haU, and soon after that the
piano again. She went into the dining-room and
dismissed the servants waiting there. When Dacre
appeared he found the cold meal he had ordered,
and Rosamund to pour out wine for him.

" When is Joan's concert? " he asked.

" On Friday."

" And to-day is Monday. How is it Herr Witt can
spare the time? "

" I don't know," said Rosamund; " I have hardly
spoken to him since he came."

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The Professor's Legacy

" Don't you think you ought to go back to the
others now? "

" Perhaps I ought," said Rosamund dejectedly.
She got up and went slowly towards the door. Dacre
watched her, almost spoke to recall her, checked
himself, and let her go. The droop of her figure and
her gentle acquiescence touched him, but the thought
of Christian Witt in his house angered him. He
believed in his wife's loyalty, but he believed it cost
her a struggle to be loyal. As for the roses, it is the
German way to meet the returning traveller with a
gift of flowers. Roses of duty and politeness he
reckoned them, not the roses of the ode.

Rosamund did not join the others when she left
the dining-room at her husband's bidding. She felt
unequal to any encounter with them yet, and she
pushed open the door of the unlighted drawing-room,
and found her way to a window-seat. There she
sat and cried her heart out like a child. She did not
know what to do, yet she knew that in theory her
course was plain. She ought to tell her husband
that she loved him, not Christian or another. But
just this was what she had brazenly tried to do, she
vowed, as she looked back; and if a man will not see,
it must be because he has no mind to; and if he has
no mind, there is the end of the story for such as
Rosamund. She felt to-night that she had reached
the utmost limit of the advances she could make.
The forces that defeated her were intangible, but
none the less insuperable.

She started to her feet as some one opened the door
and came stumbling across the room; but she felt a
sharp pang of disappointment when she saw Frank
Ilchester.

" I say, Mrs. Dacre, I've been hunting for you every-
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where, upstairs and downstairs and in my lady's
chamber. The German Johnnie wants you to sing
in a quartette on Friday. Won't it be rippin'?
By Jove! how light it is in this window! Do you
know that Dacre is back? He's in there talking
German as fast as if it was English. I say
Mrs. Dacre ... is anything the matter? "

The boy had stumbled across the room in the
moonlight, talking as he came, and had now come
face to face with Rosamund. It was no use for
either of them to pretend. Her eyes were still filled
with tears, her face was marked by them, her breath
was sobbing and unsteady.

"I'll come in a minute," she said.

Frank looked after her as she fled from the room,
and his anger was consuming. Who could be brute
enough to make his divinity cry and not follow to
console her? She had not shown surprise when he
told her of Dacre 's arrival. Perhaps she had seen
him. Dacre had not asked for her or spoken her
name just now. It was Christian who had demanded
her presence when the quartette was spoken of; it
was Betty who had asked Frank to look for her niece.
He went back to Joan's room, and said that Mrs.
Dacre would be v/ith them directly.

When Rosamund appeared she had washed away
her tears and regained her composure. Joan and
Christian were too much absorbed in their music to
notice that she had been crying, but the others saw it.
Frank observed that she neither spoke to her husband
nor glanced at him when she came into the room, so
he knew they must have met already, and he concluded
that in one way or the other Dacre was responsible
for his wife's tears. He wished they belonged to a
primitive state of society that would permit him to

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kill Dacre and take Rosamund for his own. As he
sang in the quartette he put all the fury of his mood
into his crude bass voice, and enjoyed doing so. But
Christian Witt stopped suddenly and told him not
to bellow. Rosamund sang badly too. She was
inattentive and out of practice.

" You have forgotten all I taught you," said
Christian. " Your aunt sings better than you do
now."

" You take my part, then, Aunt Betty," said Rosa-
mund. "It is quite true: I have neglected my
music."

" Why do you allow it? " said Christian, turning
suddenly to Dacre. " Your wife has a pretty voice,
and I had begun to train it carefully."

" My wife's voice is her own," said Dacre, looking
amused. " She does as she pleases."

"Ugh!" said Christian Witt. "That is the
English idea. If my wife has a voice, it will not be
her own: it will be mine, and I shall show her how
to make the best of it."

" You will never have a wife," said Betty. " You
are too fickle and too much wrapt up in yourself
and your music."

Christian's eyes sought Joan's, and his lingers
rippled over the keys of the piano.

" Come and sing again," he said to her. " You
have not neglected your music like that faithless
child. We will try the quartette once more. Frau
Elsler will sing the soprano, and Herr Frank will
try to remember that he is not a cow who is mourning
her calf."

The Professor's Legacy

XXIX

CHRISTIAN and Joan were thoroughly enjoying them-
selves. They met at the piano before breakfast, and
they spent the morning together at the piano. In the
afternoon they went down to the village hall, where
they had two pianos, Christian's violin, Mr. Sidmouth,
and any other performers who could be whipped up
to attend rehearsals. When the four helpers from
Whincliffe came to dinner on Tuesday, Christian
tested their capacities, and said he would not have
two of them at any price. He managed to convey
this judgment to their understanding without incur-
ring their resentment. Every one liked him, every
one smiled at him, and laughed with him. Frank
Ilchester took a snapshot of him walking arm in
arm with Mr. Sidmouth down the village street, the
German with his panama on the back of his head
and his white sun-umbrella unfurled. Mrs. East-
wood found him at Joan's piano one hot afternoon
with a cigar in his mouth, and his coat on a chair
beside him. He got into his coat when the ladies
appeared, but he did not let his cigar out. At first
they talked. Mrs. Eastwood asked Christian what
outdoor games he played, and he told her he never
played any. Then she asked him if there was
" huntin' " in his part of the world, and he said he
didn't know. Then she said she had heard that
venison was plentiful, and could he tell her how the
deer were preserved, and who had permission to stalk

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them ? But he said he had never seen any part of a
deer except its back, and he liked it basted with sour
cream. After that he sat down to the piano, and
when he had played to Mrs. Eastwood, she thanked
him in the stammering slang that was the only
eloquence at her command. She also asked him to
dinner with every one else from Ormathwaite on
Thursday, and mentioned that they would meet
again at the concert on Friday, and at Wangrave on
Saturday.

" Hope it won't give you the hump," she said,
" seein' the same little lot night after night."

Christian bowed in a dignified way, accepted her
invitation, and explained that he would not be at
Wangrave, as he was obliged to leave the day after
the concert. He understood English pretty well, but
he could not always understand Mrs. Eastwood. She
spoke so quickly, and used so many expressions he
had not been taught at school.

" Can you always understand her?" he said to
Rosamund when she had gone.

" Yes, I can now. She was apologising for the
want of variety in a country neighbourhood. We
certainly meet each other very often. But I am
sorry you are obliged to leave before the dinner at
Wangrave."

" Why ? Is there to be anything unusual about the
dinner at that young man's house ? "

" Oh, I take a special interest in it," said Rosa-
mund. " I have chosen the menu-cards and the
decorations, you know."

" Hm . . .! " said Christian. " Why doesn't Mr.
Frank get married ? "

'* I wish he would," said Rosamund. " I wish ..."

She stopped; and then she saw that Christian
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suspected what she wished, and was blazing with
disapproval.

" A young moon-calf like that ! " he cried. " Of
course no sensible girl would marry him. But there
are girls enough in the world who are not at all
sensible. Is he well off ? "

" I believe so," said Rosamund.

Christian Witt looked out of the window, and saw
Frank Ilchester crossing the lawn.

" His third visit to-day," he said in a tone of
exasperation.

" He only comes to see me," said Rosamund,
thinking to relieve his jealousy of Joan.

"We all know that," growled Christian. "The
wonder is that your husband allows it."

' You don't understand," said Rosamund, on her
dignity. " We are on friendly terms, but . . ."

" It is not my business, of course," said Christian,
and he marched out of the room. He avoided Frank,
but met Betty in the drive.

" Are you going down to the village? " she said.
" I'll come with you."

" I can't do with you," he said grumpily. " I have
to practise that infernal duet, and I won't have
ladies present. Sidmouth is a delightful fellow, and
he is coming to stay with me in Fichtenstadt this
summer; but he has promised not to touch the
piano."

" I wonder how the duet will go off on Friday? "

" It will be a fine performance. Luckily, no one
but Miss Dacre will understand what a fool I make of
myself."

" I shall understand."

" You know nothing whatever of instrumental
music: you only pretend. But you do know some-

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thing of men. Can't you turn the head of the young
gentleman who bellows? "

" I don't think so," said Betty demurely. " He
belongs to Rosamund."

Christian was really out of humour. He looked at
Betty as if he would like to slay her, and strode away
without speaking. In the road that led to the village
he met his host, with whom he had hitherto held little
communication. Dacre stopped to speak.

" The room is going to be crowded on Friday,"
he said. " Every place is sold. Half Whincliffe is
coming to hear you play."

" Are you coming yourself, Mr. Dacre? "

" Certainly. I look forward to it."

Christian Witt made some colourless rejoinder, and
then for a moment the two men stood in the road
considering each other.

" I am coming to Fichtenstadt for a week or two
soon," said Dacre. " Shall you be there at the end
of the month? "

" I may be. Will Mrs. Dacre and your sister come
with you? "

" I believe not," said Dacre rather frigidly.

The two men parted after that, and Christian went
on to the village.

"It is a great privilege to play with such a fine
musician," Mr. Sidmouth said to Joan next day.
" But I am really rather glad his English fails
him so often. As I don't understand German, I
don't know what I am listening to, but it sounds
awful."

" Let us go into the woods this afternoon and forget
the concert for an hour," Christian said to Joan on
Friday; and as he knew his way about by this
time, he managed to escape Betty after lunch and

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meet Joan by the stone stile at the end of the
garden.

' Your brother is coming to Fichtenstadt at the
end of July/' he said when they had found their way
to the beck and were watching the spray that dashed
over some big boulders above them. " Won't you
come with him ? "

" I should like to," said Joan. " But this is the
first I have heard of it. Is Rosamund going ? "

" I believe not."

" She is longing to see Fichtenstadt again. I will
ask Will to let us both go with him."

" Do," said Christian. " The opera will be shut
and the concerts over . . . but there is always music.
If there was no one in the world but you and me there
would be music. I would play and you would sing
... as we have done here this week. Even the duet
for two pianos will not spoil the memories of this week.
Thank you for letting me come."

" Oh," cried Joan, " it is I who should thank you
for all your kindness and patience."

" Come to Fichtenstadt," said Christian, setting his
voice and his eyes, as he very well knew how, to woo
her. " You saw nothing of Germany when you were
there before. Come and discover that with us, too,
life is pleasant. You have a very fine home here,
but you have no music except what you make your-
self, and you have heard too little, you know too little,
to be sufficient to yourself. I could not live here a
year. You and I in a wilderness . . . that is dif-
ferent . . . but a wilderness is not an English country
neighbourhood where Mr. Sidmouth murders Mozart
unreproved and Mr. Ilchester sings about la-la-girls
and Tommies. It is only five days ago that you were
going to sing . . . what was it? "

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" But we have very good music in England," said
Joan, " and I dare say you have bad music in
Germany."

" Plenty," said Christian; " but most of us know
the difference."

Joan was half pleased, half sorry, to hear Betty's
voice hailing them from a little way up the stream.
A moment later she joined them, and the three strolled
back through the copse and the garden together.

" What is Rosamund doing? " said Joan.

" Need you ask ? " said Betty. " Sitting in the
shade, with Frank Ilchester at her feet."

Christian scowled at the innuendo in Betty's smooth
ironical voice, and Joan made up her mind that she
would speak to Rosamund when she got a chance.
That day, as she expected, the chance did not come.
When they approached the house they found tea set
out in the garden, and a cluster of people gathered near
the tables. Two of them had come to dine and sleep
at Ormathwaite. Frank Ilchester was there, and
Mr. Sidmouth, and the Vicar, with his elderly sisters.
Christian took a chair a little way off and watched
Rosamund. The girl had a pretty, tranquil dignity
of manner that suited her surroundings. She wore a
thin white gown and a shady hat. She had learned
how to dress; she had always known naturally how to
move. Frank Ilchester was openly making a fool of
himself about her, following her with his eyes, wait-
ing on her hand and foot, appealing to her in season
and out of season. His infatuation must be plain to
every one, thought Christian. Presently Dacre joined
the party on the lawn, and asked his wife for a cup of
tea. Directly he appeared Rosamund's face changed
as a cloud does when it drifts past the moon. She
carried him his tea, though both the young men present

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tried to take it from her. He did not see what she
was doing till jfie touched his arm. Then he thanked
her, and resumed his conversation with the Vicar.
Rosamund, some of the radiance having died out
of her face, went back to her place near the tea-
tray.

Dinner was to be served in the hall to-day an hour
earlier than usual, and there was to be a supper-party
for forty people after the concert. Rosamund had
taken great pains with this part of the entertainment,
and when tea was over she slipped away to the dining-
room to look at her table. Since she had been house-
keeper there was no torn linen at Ormathwaite, and
to-night every one of the fine damask napkins had her
monogram embroidered in the corner. It pleased her
to see them standing up like soldiers on the forty
plates. There was a great deal of old silver at Orma-
thwaite that she had brought into use, and a long
silver stand for the centre of the table, on which she
had lightly arranged hundreds of roses. There was
no food on the table, nothing but flowers, and glass,
and silver, and little dishes, with sweets and salted
almonds. As she bent over the table, Frank Ilchester
looked in.

"I say," he exclaimed ingeniously, "my table
won't look like that to-morrow . . . unless you come
over after lunch and help me. Do you think you
could?'1

" Perhaps I could," said Rosamund. " But your
housekeeper ..."

"My housekeeper adores you ... as every one
else does," said Frank.

" I won't promise," said Rosamund, who was
paying more attention to her roses than to her com-
panion. " I may be wanted at home."

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" You are never wanted here as badly as you are at
Wangrave. I'm going to take that rose."

"Why?"

" Because you have touched it."

"What stuff you talk the last few days!" said
Rosamund absently. " You have plenty of roses at
home."

" I haven't one; not so much as a bud. If I look
at a rose my gardener starts up from behind a bush,
and says: ' They're wanted for Saturday, sir/ You
don't know how I'm put upon."

" I know too much about flowers now to believe it,"
said Rosamund, laughing. " The roses you gather
to-morrow are only half open to-day."

Frank was trying to disentangle the one he coveted
from the others in the glass, and when he had suc-
ceeded he kissed it.

" My lady's gage! " he cried. And he went out of
the room, shouting the first few lines of My love's like
a red, red rose. He had often heard Joan sing it, but
he never could get a bar right. He looked so little
where he was going that he nearly fell over Christian
Witt in the doorway.

" I want my cigar-case," said Christian in his most
bearish voice to Rosamund; " I left it here at lunch-
time."

When Christian Witt was out of humour there
was no mistake about it. Rosamund looked at him
affectionately.

" Anything wrong? " she asked.

" Yes," said Christian. " Why do you give roses
to a handsome young man and let him bellow a love-
song about them . . . with half the notes wrong and
the other half out of tune ? "

Rosamund could not make up her mind whether to
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laugh or be angry. She was still extremely fond of
Christian Witt, though she wondered now how she
could ever have woven a romance about a man who
wore a beard and would be decidedly stout some
day.

" How can I help wfc it he sings ? " she said. " And
he took the rose."

Christian looked half mollified, half incredulous.

" Suppose you give me one," he said.

Rosamund gladly chose a lemon-coloured bud for
him, put a spray of maiden-hair with it, and helped
him to fasten it in his buttonhole. She had not quite
finished when Dacre entered the room.

" I expected to find Graves here," he said, and
would have gone away again. But Rosamund ran
after him.

."I want to ask you about something," she said.

Christian Witt, with her rose in his buttonhole,
passed out into the hall.

II Well ? " said Dacre, coming back into the room.
" Don't you think our table looks nice? "

" Very nice. Who arranged the flowers ? "

" I did."

There was a moment's silence before Dacre spoke
again.

" I thought you wanted to ask me something," he
said. "I've told Graves about the wine."

" Will you wear a rose if I give you one ? "

II 1 met Frank coming away from here with a red
rose, and I'm afraid I disturbed you when you were
presenting a yellow one to Herr Witt. What colour
have you left for me ? "

" Oh, none at all if you speak in that tone."
" As you please; but in future I would rather you
let other men gather their own roses."

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" Why should you care, since we are nothing to each
other?"

li We are husband and wife," said Dacre. " I
wonder how long it will take you to learn what that
implies ? "

" Perhaps we both have something to learn," said
Rosamund slowly.

XXX

THE little village hall was crowded. There were
gentlefolk from miles round on the front benches,
and villagers on the back ones, and townspeople from
Whincliffe in between. Joan was known and liked
throughout the county, and a concert she got up was
always well attended. But this time the fame of
Christian Witt had gone abroad, and every ticket
could have been sold three times.

" I suppose they would have rushed here just the
same if you were going to balance billiard balls on
your toes," Betty said to him as they surveyed the
audience together. " It can't be your playing that
attracts them. We have been here long enough to
know the kind of music they really like."

Betty was not happy. She wished she had never
invited Christian to Ormathwaite, and ever since he
came she wished she could pack him off again. She
could endure the thought that he did not mean to
marry her. It had a gleam of hope in it. As time
went on he might, from sheer habit, find her indis-
pensable, and change his mind. But this could not

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happen if he married any one else, and the fear that
he would do so haunted her.

" * An artist married is an artist marred/ " she had
said to him, and he corrected her quotation.

" ' A young man married is a man that's marred '
— I am thirty-three."

It was a declaration of independence, and Betty
felt restless. Life stretched grey and dusty before
her if Christian brought a wife to Fichtenstadt. Of
course, she could marry some one else. A charming
widow with a good income has chances enough.
There was that old Major Gadow, for instance.
Betty gave a little shudder as she thought of his
pompous manners and his rasping, disagreeable
voice. Then Christian Witt appeared on the plat-
form with Mr. Sidmouth, and the two men sat down
to their duet for two pianos. Betty sat beside
Dacre in the front row. There was an empty place
beside him reserved for Rosamund, but at present
she was with every one else from Ormathwaite in a
little waiting-room behind the platform.

" Why does Rosamund stay in there ? " said
Betty to Dacre; "she is not one of the per-
formers."

Dacre looked across the platform towards the open
doorway of the waiting-room.

"I can't see her," he said; " I can see
Ilchester."

" Then you may be sure Rosamund is close by,"
said Betty.

She expected some remonstrance or some inquiry
from Dacre, but she could not even feel sure that
he had heard what she said. He was apparently
absorbed in his programme, and it struck Betty that
his profile could be forbidding.

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" He is either deaf or furious," she said to herself.
" I suppose I shall find out the next time he speaks
to me."

The duet for two pianos took a long time, and
when it came to an end the audience applauded
with relief. Then it was the turn of the glee-singers.
After that there was a recitation with a musical
accompaniment, and then some solo songs. Then
Christian sat down to the piano by himself and
played one of Liszt's Hungarian rhapsodies. The
wild music swept through the room and roused people
a little.

" He can play a bit," said Mrs. Eastwood.

"I'd turn out again to-morrow to hear him," said
her husband.

"They were all asleep," Christian whispered to
Joan; " I have waked them up. I am a proud man.
Now they will listen to your songs."

When he and Joan appeared together there was
applause before they began, and Joan's songs were
a great success, although they were by Brahms and
Rubinstein, and not by Reggie Brown.

"Christian Witt is quite right," said Betty: "a
voice like your sister's ought to be heard on the
operatic stage."

" Is that what he tells Joan? " said Dacre,

" Oh, I am not in their confidence," said Betty.
" I have hardly spoken to Christian since he arrived.
He has no eyes or ears for any one but Joan. But I
heard him say yesterday that he would like to hear
her sing Ortrud with a full orchestra. I suppose
you would never allow her to take up music as a
profession? "

" I should not like the stage," said Dacre, " but
my sister is her own mistress."

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" Is she? If it came to marriage, could she do as
she pleased? "

" Certainly. Any person of her age can in this
country."

" But you still look on musicians as organ-grinders
in this country, don't you? "

Dacre was saved from answering, because Joan
came on again just then to take an encore. He felt
as if he was spending the evening in a wasps' nest,
and he watched his sister for some sign of what he
newly feared. He wondered what Rosamund was
doing in the waiting-room, and why she did not sit
in her place beside him. When the first part of the
programme came to an end he got up.

" I think I'll see what Rosamund is doing," he
said to Betty.

" It is time you looked after her," said she; " but
I can see her from here. She is doing nothing at all,
and Frank Ilchester is helping her."

Dacre made his way to the waiting-room, and
it did not improve his temper to find that Betty
was right. Rosamund sat on one end of a long
bench, and Frank sat close to her. When Dacre
appeared the young man was silly enough to look
annoyed.

" I think you had better come into the other room,"
Dacre said to his wife; "there are people who want
to see you."

" I like being here," said Rosamund; " it is more
amusing."

The room was full, and nearly every one in it was
surrounding Christian Witt. Joan stood close to him,
and when necessary acted as interpreter.

" I suppose Joan must stay," said Dacre, " but
surely you are not wanted."

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" We could not get on for a moment without Mrs.
Dacre," said Frank.

"I'm afraid you must try," said Dacre. " Come,
Rosamund."

There was no gainsaying his curt tone of command,
and Rosamund listened to the second part of the
programme from her seat in the front row. When
the concert was over the whole audience seemed to
crowd round the husband and wife with greetings and
congratulations. They got separated, and hardly
saw each other again until they met in the supper-
room at Ormathwaite. Then the whole length of
the table was between them; but Dacre saw that
Frank had managed to get close to Rosamund, that
he was drinking champagne freely, and that his
manner was attracting general attention. Dacre
wished he could take the lad by the shoulders and
put him out of the room. He saw a contemptuous
smile on Betty's face; Joan threw him troubled
glances, and Christian Witt looked furious. He saw
Frank take a faded red rose from his buttonhole,
press it to his lips, and put it carefully away in
a pocket-book. Mrs. Eastwood, who sat next to
Dacre, watched this little performance, and as the
company streamed out of the supper -room she
touched her husband's arm.

" What an ass Frank is! " she said. " Can't you
tell him to pull up and behave himself ? "

" Ain't that more in your line ? What ? " said the
major.

So when Mrs. Eastwood got into the hall she
looked for her young brother; but he was nowhere
to be seen.

" What has become of Frank? " she said to Joan in
Dacre's hearing.

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"What has become of Rosamund? " said Betty,
who stood close by. " Every one is asking for her."

Dacre saw Christian stoop down and whisper some-
thing in Joan's ear. She moved away at once
towards a door leading into the garden, but her
brother intercepted her.

" Where are you going? " he said.

" Into the garden."

" I will go instead of you."

Joan drew back, and Dacre went out into the garden.
Carriages were waiting in front of the house, and he
knew that he must soon be in the hall again, speeding
his guests. He walked here and there, but saw no
one, and as the windows of Joan's room stood open, he
thought he would get back that way. There was no
light in the room, but as he stepped over the threshold,
the door into the hall opened and shut again. For a
moment the light streamed in, and he saw Rosamund
slipping away and Frank sitting down near a low
table, his head buried in his arms. Dacre lighted
some candles.

" Was my wife here a moment ago? " he said.

The younger man had risen, and was looking
moodily at his host.

" Yes," he said.

Dacre went on into the hall. His guests were
gathered there now, and Rosamund stood amongst
them. For a little while both husband and wife were
occupied, but Dacre observed that Frank did not
appear again.

" It has been a delightful evening," said Betty.

She put up her hand to smother a yawn as she

spoke, and Rosamund, who knew what was expected

of a hostess by this time, led her guests upstairs.

Betty went with them, but Joan ran back again for

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something she had forgotten. Rosamund saw the
two strangers to their rooms, looked in on her aunt for
a few minutes, and then came leisurely along a cor-
ridor to a central landing from which you could look
over the banisters into the hall below. The sound of
voices attracted her, and, without premeditation, she
looked, and then quickly looked away. Christian
and Joan sat together on an oak settle near the fire-
place, and their rapt faces told their simple story.
Christian was talking in a low voice. Joan answered
him. Rosamund drew back lest a word not meant for
her should reach her ears. The significance of her
discovery excited her. The sudden picture of the
lovers stirred her imagination. She walked slowly
to a further corner of the landing, and sat down on a
cushioned window-seat, and looked out of the open
window at a night of stars. She had no mind and no
patience for bed just yet. Her thoughts were in a
ferment. When a door near by opened, and Dacre
appeared, she knew it was for him she waited. Her
eyes shone as he came towards her.

" It is late," he said.

" Joan has not come up yet," said Rosamund.

Her husband was going towards the stairs, when she
got up and put a detaining hand on his arm.

" Come and sit down," she said.

" But it is late. You ought to be in bed, and so
ought Joan."

" Never mind for once. Herr Witt is down there
too. He is talking to Joan."

" He leaves to-morrow, doesn't he? "

' Yes; and Aunt Betty leaves on Monday."

" They are not travelling together, then? "

" No. Aunt Betty is going straight to Obermatt
again."

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Dacre sat down beside his wife on the window-seat.

" Would you like to go with her? " he said.

" Why should I? " said Rosamund, putting all the
surprise and unwillingness she felt into her tone.

" This house will be uncomfortable for months,
while the laboratory is being built and the electric
light put in."

" But what are you going to do? "

" I am going to Fichtenstadt for about a fortnight,
and then to America again. Surely you knew."

" How should I know? " said Rosamund sadly.
" You never tell me your plans. What will Joan do
then? "

" I shall advise her to leave home too. But Joan is
her own mistress."

" You have never proposed this before. We have
known about the laboratory for months. The noise
and dust will only be at one end of the house. I have
expected to stay here through it."

" Unfortunately, I have to be away a good deal this
summer," said Dacre, " so I wish you to be away too."

"Why?"

" I am not prepared to give reasons. I am not even
prepared with definite plans. You have not answered
my question about Obermatt yet."

" I should hate it," said Rosamund. " I was
miserable there, and I should be again."

Dacre's silence and the ironical gravity of his glance
showed Rosamund her blunder. It was at Obermatt
that he had asked her to marry him.

" I should like to go there again some day with you,"
she said, " but not with Aunt Betty."

"Well," said Dacre, "I will talk to Joan to-
morrow. She may have ideas."

" I wish you would let us both come with you to
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Fichtenstadt, and then we could go on to some place
in the forest. I know that is what Joan would like,
and so should I."

" How do you know what Joan would like? " said
Dacre abruptly.

Rosamund did not answer at once, but she smiled a
little as the murmur of voices reached them from
below.

" You were angry about Christian coming/' she
said. " Surely you have observed that he has no
eyes for me ? "

" My attention was drawn to it this evening/' said
Dacre, " by your aunt. I only half believed her."

" I should have thought Aunt Betty would not
like it."

" I am not at all sure that I do," said Dacre.

" But you like Christian ? "

" Very much. Who could help it ? But I think we
will keep away from Fichtenstadt this summer. I
am not going to encourage any one who would want
to take Joan out of her own country."

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XXXI

THE guests had gone from Ormathwaite — first the
two who had come for one night only, then Christian
Witt, then Betty. After the excitement of the last
week life seemed a little flat. Joan went about with
a happy face, as if the future held a promise she
trusted. In a few days a letter came from Christian,
addressed jointly to Rosamund and Dacre, thanking
them for their hospitality and informing them that he
had a call to conduct a short season of summer opera
at a well-known fashionable watering-place. He said
he was leaving Fichtenstadt at once.

" I should like to go to Germany this summer,"
said Joan, soon after the letter came.

" So should I/' said Rosamund.

" Then why don't we go ? "

" The other night I spoke of it to Will, and he seemed
against it."

" I wonder why."

" Perhaps if you asked him he would consent," said
Rosamund, evading Joan's question

Joan stroked the cat in her arms. She sat just
inside the window of her room, and Rosamund stood
just outside with an empty basket on her arm.

" Where are you going ? " she said.

" Frank has asked me to meet him. We are going
to look for the cloudberry on the moor."

Joan began to stroke her cat again. She wanted
to say something about Frank, and found it difficult.

" He ought to get something to do," she said.
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" This idle life is bad for him, and he hangs about
this house too much."

" I am tired of it myself," said Rosamund.

" Then why arrange to go walks with him ? "

" Oh, he asked me, and I had no excuse ready,
and I have never found the cloudberry."

Joan said no more, and Rosamund moved away
from the window. She found Frank waiting for her
at the stile, and as they walked towards the moor he
complained that he had not seen her for three whole
days.

" You won't see me for three whole months if I go
away for the rest of the summer," she said.

" Is there any talk of it ? " said Frank, looking all
amort at once.

" While the building is going on, you know.
William will be in America, and Joan has half
promised some people in Scotland."

"And you?"

" It isn't settled yet. The idea was that I should
go to Aunt Betty at Obermatt, but I would rather
not do that."

" I don't see why we should be separated," said
Frank ingenuously. " I'll go wherever you do."

Rosamund's silence was meant to be discouraging,
and for some time they walked uncomfortably side
by side. They were on the open moor now, and the
plovers were circling high above them, crying mourn-
fully. Frank had forgotten all about the cloudberry,
and Rosamund did not know where to look.

" Why doesn't your husband take you with him ? "
the young man said suddenly.

" It would not be convenient," said Rosamund,
with some stiffness.

They walked on a little further beneath a grey
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sky, across the short moorland grass towards the
heather that spread like a rosy sea for miles in front
of them. The world was not with them here, and its
judgment seemed as far away as the smoke and clatter
of towns.

" I would give my life and my soul to make you
happy," said the young man passionately. " I
wish you would let me try."

Rosamund was horrified, and did not like to say so.
Ever since the night of the concert, when they had
sat lugubriously together in the darkness of Joan's
room, she had known without any need of words that
Frank's sighs were not addressed to Joan. Of course,
he was only a boy, and his love passages were
notorious, but it vexed her to be the subject of one
of them. She must be to blame, she thought, and
she saw clearly now that she ought not to have come
out with him to-day.

" I am tired," she said; " I think I'll go back."
They had left the moor and reached the Orma-
thwaite copse before Frank spoke again.

" I mean what I said with every breath in my
body, Mrs. Dacre," he began. " Any child can see
that you are not happy, and that it is not your fault."
" I am perfectly happy," said Rosamund.
Frank went on talking. She hardly knew what he
said, she was in so great a hurry to get away from him
But it was a declaration in form, a declaration of
undying love. He proposed that they should fly
the world together, the sooner the better. He pro-
posed to spend the rest of his life at her feet.

" What Joan says is true," cried Rosamund cruelly.
" You ought to get some work to do. It would drive
such silly, wicked ideas out of your head."

" Wickedness is a mere word, so is folly. I am not
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afraid of words," said Frank. " There is only one
thought in my mind, and that is to live and die for
you."

"Oh dear! oh dear!" said Rosamund; "how
silly and wicked I must be to let this happen! "

" You could not have helped it. The first moment
I saw you it happened. You came into my life like
lightning. How can any one see you and not love
you ? "

" They can," sighed Rosamund.

" I know they can," said Frank savagely.

They were an agitated - looking couple by this
time. Rosamund was pale and Frank was red and
angry, and both of them, for different reasons, had
tears near their eyes. Dacre had not expected to
meet them so soon, nor had he expected to see such
traces of violent emotion on both young faces. His
encounter with them was not accidental. He had
looked for Rosamund, and failing to find her, had
asked Joan if she knew where his wife was.

" She has gone for a walk," said Joan.

" In which direction ? "

" To Ormathwaite moor."

"By herself?"

Joan hesitated. Her brother looked at her, and,
without waiting for her to reply, started himself in the
direction of the moor.

When Rosamund saw her husband her heart
seemed to wait till he should speak. But they met
close to the stone stile leading to the garden, and it
was with hardly any words that he helped her over it.

" Go on," he said; " I'm not coming back to the
house just yet."

The two men watched her disappear, and then
they faced each other.

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" I've just told your wife I'd give my heart and
soul to make her happy," said Frank, his hands
clenched, his voice hoarse and fierce with emotion.

" I was afraid you had been annoying her," said
Dacre.

" You have yourself to blame. You neglect her.
You have no eyes for her beauty and sweetness.
Why the devil did you marry her ? She is miserable —
any one can see it. She tells me you are going to leave
her again for months . . . that you want to pack
her off to that little minx of an aunt. She hates the
thought of it ... but you'll never consider that.
I wish to Heaven she'd come to me! "

" Have you asked her to? "

Both men were in a white heat of anger by this
time, but Dacre leaned quietly against the wall and
let the younger one run on. Frank's words had
come in short, broken periods; his indignation
seemed to suffocate him; his veins stood out on
his fair, boyish forehead, and his eyes would have
withered Dacre if Dacre had been susceptible.

" I have begged her to come to me," Frank went
on. "I shall write to her now and propose the
Rocky Mountains. We can forget the world there,
and she can forget her miserable marriage. I don't
want to behave like a scoundrel, but our stupid laws
drive one into an appearance of it. If you have a
shred of decent feeling left, you'll apply for a divorce."

" Is that what my wife desires ? " said Dacre.

This direct question took Frank aback.

" She didn't say so," he admitted sullenly. " We
hadn't got as far as that. But there is no doubt
that it would be the happiest thing for her. You
needn't fear a big scandal. I would sell Wangrave.
It could all be managed quietly."

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" There is not going to be either a big or a little
scandal," said Dacre. " Until you have recovered
your senses I forbid you to come to my house, and,
of course, I shall forbid my wife and sister to go to
yours. In a few days we shall all have left Orma-
thwaite."

" I shall follow your wife," cried Frank.

" I advise you not to," said Dacre; "you'll find
me there." Then he got over the stile into his own
garden and went straight indoors.

Rosamund was not downstairs, so he went upstairs
in search of her. He found her in her own room.
She had put on a thin white wrapper, and her maid
had brought her tea. The woman left the room as
Dacre entered it. He sat down on a window-seat
opposite his wife.

" I have just told Frank that he is not to come to
the house again," he said, going straight to the point.

" That was quite unnecessary," said Rosamund.

She took her husband completely by surprise.
Never since their marriage had she swerved from
the gentle acquiescence that he supposed she con-
sidered dutiful. Even when she had gone against his
wishes in the matter of the bicycle she had not taken
this tone, and it angered him.

" I have also said that you and Joan will not go to
Wangrave at present," he went on.

"What will Joan think?"

" I am afraid she will understand at once."

" There is nothing to understand."

" I remember telling you that there was one thing
I would never forgive," said Dacre slowly.

Rosamund felt too angry to speak, too angry to
feel sorry or afraid or unhappy. Her anger seemed
to burn her like a flame, and drive out all other

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motives and sensations. She turned white to the
lips with it, and her eyes dilated.

" You think I am telling you a lie," she said;
" you think there is . . ."

He thought she had been carrying on a flirtation
with that unspeakably silly boy, and the thought
was so humiliating to her, so far from the truth and
yet so miserably near the appearance of truth, that
she did not know how to frame it in words. She
felt that any expression of it must be offensive.

" Your aunt saw what was going on," said Dacre;
" she spoke of it. I believe Herr Witt saw it
too."

" Did they both try to make mischief with you? "

" And on the night of the concert, when every one
had gathered in the hall, I could not find you. I
looked in the garden ..."

" There were Northern Lights in the sky, and
Frank wanted me to see them," said Rosamund.
" We came back through Joan's room and sat down
there a moment."

Dacre's eyes were sad as well as angry now.
The explanation sounded so childish and so futile.
" There was a book, and Paolo and I were reading it."
So Francesca might have spoken. " There was a
balcony and a moon and a nightingale." So Juliet.
He shifted his position, and stared across the room
instead of at his wife's white, angry face.

" What have you and Frank been saying to each
other? " she asked.

Dacre turned his eyes on her again in ironical
surprise. He made no attempt to answer her.

" You won't tell me?"

" Certainly not."

" Of course, I know he is a silly boy," said Rosa-
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mund, her lip beginning to tremble a little, " but how
can I help that? "

" You will not see him again until he is less silly,"
said Dacre. " He is very changeable ... as change-
able, I think, as you."

" What do you mean by that ? "

" How long is it since you cast off Christian Witt ? "

" I can't tell you the exact day," said Rosamund.
She leant forward a little, and there was still an angry
note in her voice, an angry light in her eyes. " It
was soon after our marriage," she said.

Before either of them could speak again there was
a knock at the door, and Joan opened it. When
she saw her brother she drew back, but Dacre called
her in.

" I want you," he said; " we can't make our plans
without you."

She came further into the room, and sat down
beside him on the window-seat.

" Rosamund has a headache," she said; " I think
she ought to lie down and not make plans."

" As a matter of fact, they are partly made,"
said Dacre. " Rosamund is coming with me to
Fichtenstadt next week."

He watched his wife's face as he spoke, and saw
that she was startled. She looked down; she did
not speak; she showed no pleasure, yet against her
will her lips broke into a little smile.

" I suppose you uon't want me with you ? " said
Joan.

" We want you very much," said Dacre; " in fact,
I am going to ask more of you. Would it break your
heart to give up Scotland and stay in Germany or
Switzerland with us till the end of the summer ? "

" But you are going to America ? "
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" I am not sure that I shall now," said Dacre.

Rosamund looked swiftly at her husband. She
remembered Frank's threat that he would follow her
wherever she went, and she felt sure that Dacre 's
sudden change of plan had some connection with the
infatuated boy.

" You can go to America," she said; " Joan and I
are quite able to take care of ourselves."

" I should think so," said Joan.

"We will go to Fichtenstadt on Friday week,"
said Dacre; " after that we will see."

XXXII

THEY had met Christian Witt by appointment in the
Stadt Park, and were having supper out of doors.
When the meal was over Christian discovered that the
band was a long way off, and that the soft passages
did not reach them. He proposed to Joan to go
nearer the kiosk. But when Dacre, as host, had paid
his bill and followed them with Rosamund, they were
nowhere to be seen.

" It was the same story last night," he said.

Rosamund looked wistfully beyond the lights and
the crowd towards the quiet depths of the Park.

" I suppose they walk out there amongst the trees,"
she said.

Dacre, who was looking round for seats, saw two
vacant chairs, and pounced on them before he spoke
again. He lighted a cigar, while Rosamund watched
the people, and wondered how many thousand years
had passed since she lived in this town, a little school-

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girl in felt shoes and a shepherd's plaid frock. Now
and again they met acquaintances, and the acquaint-
ances invariably showed the most naive surprise at
the change in her. Beate Miiller, once Beate Rass-
mann, had asked her whether it was the English
climate or her husband's English money that worked
such wonders. Old Luise had laughed and cried with
pleasure when she saw her again. It soon became
known throughout the town that the great Professor's
daughter was here with her Englishman, and though
many people were away, Dacre and Rosamund
received some invitations. So far, however, every
evening had been ingeniously filled up by Christian
Witt. He made short work of any one who attempted
either to break their party or to join it, and Dacre,
for reasons of his own, let him have his way.

" He told us plainly in his letter that he would not
be in Fichtenstadt this month," Dacre reminded his
wife as he smoked his cigar.

" I believe he ought not to be," said Rosamund.
" He has somehow managed to get away for this week.
I am not sorry. Are you? "

" How did he know we were here? "

" Joan told him."

" But have they been corresponding with each
other? "

' Yes," said Rosamund. She smiled a little, as
if some thought amused her, and then she said:
" When German writing is very bad Joan cannot
read it."

"What does she do?"

" She has to bring it to me."

" I suppose there are no letters now . . . when
they are together all day."

" J believe there was one this morning, but I did
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not see it. I expect Joan is getting used to his
hand."

" H . . . m," said Dacre discontentedly.

Rosamund moved her chair a little, so that she
could better see her husband's profile. This sudden
return to her own country had affected her in a manner
she had not foreseen. She felt more alive, more com-
pletely herself, than she had hitherto done in England.
She knew now that she had lived amongst foreigners
for nearly a year, and that her pleasant surroundings
had been strange and repressive. This was a lighter
climate, an easier life. People laughed more, talked
more, showed more freely what they felt and desired.
It suited her present mood. Shackles fell from her,
and she astonished Dacre by her gaiety and her
initiative.

" I believe you are happier here than at Orma-
thwaite," he said jealously; and she smiled and said
she loved the storks' nests and the sunshine. Frank's
name had not once been spoken by either since they
came to Germany.

" Why do we sit here in the dust and the crowd? "
she said to-night. " Why don't we walk out there
where it is cool and quiet? Or shall we go a little
way up that hill, and find a seat amongst the pine-
trees ? I like looking down at the town when nearly
every window has a light in it."

" We can't do that," objected Dacre. " They will
come back and expect to find us here."

" They don't want us," said Rosamund mutinously,
" any more than we want them."

The band began to play a slow, dreamy waltz, and
the lilt of it set her longing.

"Suppose we were in a ballroom?" she said.
" Suppose we had never met before, and you came up

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to me and we danced together ? I have never danced
with you."

" Do you want to? " said Dacre.
" I should love it," said Rosamund.
The waltz went on. The husband and wife listened
to it together. To the end of their lives they en-
shrined the tune of it, and the summer night it recalled.
But as the last bars died away, Dacre saw Joan and
her musician coming towards them.
" There they are," he said.

Rosamund could not repress a movement of im-
patience. But Dacre got up and offered his sister hi<
chair There was no other empty seat near. The
two men went off together. The two girls watched
them out of sight, and then Joan turned eagerly to her
sister-in-law.

" Dear Rose, I am so happy," she said.
" I saw that the moment you appeared," said Rosa-
mund, and their hands met stealthily.
" He spoke to-night."
" Only to-night. I thought ..."
" Oh, we both knew . . . long since ... I don
know when . . . ever since we met, we think. But
he heard this morning that he is to have the post at
Bertholdsruhe in the autumn. It is quite settled
If I had no money we should get on. But we are both
anxious about Will. We want you to tell him and
persuade him, Rosamund. Do you think you can ?

" He is not an easy person to persuade," said Rosa-
mund doubtfully.
"But you will try? "

" I will try. A week ago I should have said it was
no use ... that I had no influence. ..."
The moment seemed to sweep down barriers, and

the two hands met again.

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" Have things come right? " said Joan.

" They will," said Rosamund; and as the two men
approached them she addressed her husband.

" I want to go home/' she said; " I am tired. I
should like a cab/'

" We will walk/' said Christian to Joan, and those
two set off together.

Dacre looked as if these arrangements were not to
his mind, but he said nothing until Rosamund and
he were back at the hotel. He lighted the two
candles standing ready on the table. Rosamund sat
down on the sofa and deliberately pulled off her long
gloves.

" I have something to tell you," she said.

" You look as if you thought it good news," said he.

" Christian proposed to Joan to-night. She is
very happy."

" I told you we ought not to come to Fichtenstadt."

" That has only hurried it on a little. They were
sure of each other when he left Ormathwaite, but he
wanted to feel secure about his future before any
formal engagement took place. He is to be director
of the Opera at Bertholdsruhe. In the musical world
it is a great post."

" We don't belong to the musical world," said
Dacre of Ormathwaite.

" Joan will love the life," said Rosamund. " She
will have music all day long — real music. Of course,
she cannot have a menagerie on a flat."

" You talk as if it was a settled thing. I only half
like it. He is fickle. A year ago he was in love with
you."

" He was never in love with me. He considered
me a child, and he was right. I was a child. He
loves Joan, and she loves him."

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" You seem delighted."

" I am."

"How will you get on without Joan? You will
be more lonely, more unhappy than ever."

" Who told you I was lonely and unhappy? "

" My own eyes. Frank Ilchester! "

" You make me angry when you speak of him."

"Why, Rosamund! " cried Dacre, half surprised,
half angered by the girl's unwonted tone.

" You won't hear. You won't see. You still
treat me as if I was the child you kindly married."

" The child I married loved another man, and had
the honesty to tell me so."

Dacre had not sat down beside Rosamund, and the
table in front of the sofa separated them. She got
up now and went closer to her husband, for she felt
no fear of him to-night. The lilt of the waltz still
sang in her soul, and her eyes were shining with an
expression he had never seen yet; for though he
might often have read love in her eyes, until to-night
he had not seen love potent enough to cast out
fear.

" Why did you marry me? " she murmured.

" Because I loved you," said Dacre, but his voice
did not respond to the tenderness in hers. It was
hard.

" Because you pitied me, you mean."
" I mean what I said. I always do."
" Have you been unhappy? "
" When two people make the mistake we did they
must suffer for it."

" I have been most unhappy," owned Rosamund,
with an alluring little sigh. Then she put both hands
on his coat-sleeves.

"Why, Rosamund?" exclaimed Dacre, again
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unable to trust his own senses, unwilling to frighten
her off, puzzled, agitated.

" I gathered roses for you, and you would not look
at them."

" I saw you give a rose to Christian Witt," said
Dacre sternly; " I saw Frank kiss a rose and put it
in his pocket-book."

" Frank took his ... silly boy . . . because I
had touched it. ... You needn't look so savage,
Will . . . you're going to beg me to forgive you in a
minute. . . . Christian asked for his rose ... I
never gave roses unasked to any man but you . . .
I never shall . . . but you would not have them."

Now he had her hands in his, and she began to feel
half scared by the commotion of spirit she had stirred
in him. She tried to draw her hands away, and found
them held faster than before.

" I thought you did not understand," said Dacre.
" Are you sure you understand to-night, Rosamund ? "

" It is not I who have been slow of understanding,"
said his wife.

" What do you mean? "

" What I have meant a thousand times . . . when
I dressed myself up and came into your room unin-
vited ... when I asked you to stay in my room and
see the moon rise . . . when I brought you the roses
of the ode. ... I have been brazen . . . how am
I ever to forget it ? "

" Frank said I neglected you, made you miserable."

" So you did. You see, it began so long ago .' . .
before ever we got to Ormathwaite I knew it was you

. . you and no other . . . and I used to watch
you . . . and try to please you. ... I dressed for
you . . . spoke and thought for you . . . dreamed
of you ... oh! I've eaten my heart out! "

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" But, my dear child, why didn't you come and tell
me so?"

" I did — twenty times a day.''

" Not as you have told me to-night ... so that I
could understand."

" How could I ? My cheeks are burning now. I
don't suppose I shall ever be able to look you in the
face again. Besides, you froze me. England froze
me. My own country has loosed my tongue."

Rosamund threw back her head a little so that she
could see her husband's face, for he had drawn her
close to him now.

" It has not loosed yours," she declared. " What
have you said to encourage me? "

His lips met hers before he spoke.

" I ask you to forgive me," he said at length.

They walked slowly towards the open window, and
stood there together looking at the sky.

" Shall you go to America now? " said Rosamund,
after a time.

" If you will come with me," said Dacre.

" Then Christian Witt will get his own way. He
wants Joan to marry him in a fortnight."

" I had quite forgotten Christian Witt," said Dacre.

" I think I will just steal across to Joan's room and
tell her you consent," said Rosamund guilefully. " It
will make her so happy."

" You'll do nothing of the kind/' said Dacre; " I
don't consent. I don't wish it."

" Well, you needn't consent, you know. It isn't
necessary. But you might let me tell her you're not
furious."

" Furious is not the right word."

" Of course not. How could it be to-night, when
we are so happy? "

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" Why can't she marry in her own country? "

" It runs in the family ... not to ... I suppose."

" Rosamund! "

" Send her a nice message. No. Come with me.
She will be expecting us."

" Did she ask you to tell me, then? "

" Yes; and I said you were a difficult man to
persuade."

" So I am."

" Not to-night. I've come into my kingdom, and
I'm going to reign there. You know you can deny
me nothing."

" I'm afraid you know it too," said Dacre, as he
followed his wife to Joan's room.

" It's all right, Joan," said Rosamund—" every-
thing is all right."

Joan saw from the radiance in their faces that it
was not only her own deep joy they were celebrating,
and her brother's kiss told her more than the few words
did in which he gave his consent to her marriage.

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XXXIII

THE next morning Christian came round to the hotel
and asked for Dacre. He was taken upstairs, and
found the Englishman alone in a private sitting-room.
The two men shook hands, and Dacre observed that
the German had dressed himself with unusual care,
and that he looked both happy and solemn.

" Perhaps you know already what I have to say,"
he began at once.

" I suppose I do," admitted Dacre.

There were two easy-chairs near an open window,
and the two men took them. The window looked
on the Kaiser Strasse, but at that hour of the morning
there was not much traffic there.

" Now that I have seen your home I know that it is
not much of a marriage for your sister," said Christian.
" I cannot give her a park and a castle."

Dacre could not help smiling. The German was
generally sure of himself, pleased with his prospects,
and accustomed to recognition of his great ability.
This air of apology sat strangely on him.

" Perhaps I ought to tell you that the marriage
does not meet with my approval," said Dacre.

" I could not expect it," said Christian.

" I am not thinking so much of the money as of
the other disadvantages."

" I know of no other disadvantages," said Christian.
" Of course, that is a serious one from your point of
view. From my point of view I am extremely well
off. My income at Bertholdsruhe will be five hundred
a year, and my father left me a thousand pounds. I

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shall insure my life, and every year we shall save
something. Besides, I shall not be content with
Bertholdsruhe for ever. It is a stepping-stone to
something more important still."

" That is all quite satisfactory/' said Dacre, looking
at his future brother-in-law with a glance of reflective
surprise that Christian did not understand yet. " But
if Joan marries you she will have to live in Germany."

" She could not live in a better country."

" I will speak plainly," said Dacre; " I distrust the
artistic temperament: it is unstable. What it loves
one day it casts aside the next."

" That is not my nature," said Christian simply.
" Until I saw your sister I had not seen the woman I
wished to make my wife. We are a faithful people,
neither light nor fickle."

" But I have heard stories . . . you are run after by
all sorts of silly women."

" When I have a wife they will cease to run . . .
I hope. Besides, at Bertholdsruhe I need not give
many lessons ... a few perhaps ... to add to
our income."

" Has Joan said anything to you of her ow»
income? "

" Nothing at all. I did not know she had one."

" But you knew that I had money."

" It is your English way, I believe, to give the som
everything and the daughters nothing. I will not
pretend that I approve of it. I am glad to hear Joan
has a little money. She has been used to great com-
fort, and she tells me she is the worst housekeeper in
the world. It costs money to be a bad housekeeper;
but if it makes her happy ... in Germany a man
can get a meal out of doors at a pinch."

Dacre laughed, and offered Christian a cigar. He
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felt the personal charm of the man, he believed in his
worth, and he had a high opinion of his powers. He
knew that Joan's world would think the marriage an
odd one, though it would have applauded her marriage
with Frank Ilchester. As Dacre lighted his own
cigar he made up his mind that, for once, the world
would be in the wrong.

" Joan's money will be settled on her and her
children in the English way," he said. " My father
left her fifty thousand pounds."

"Pounds sterling! Fifty thousand pounds ster-
ling!"

"All these years she has spent nothing much.
She has lived at Orm^thwaite. I suppose it has
doubled itself."

" I had no idea of this when I asked her to marry
me yesterday," said Christian. " She said nothing.
I thought perhaps you would give her a hundred, or
even two hundred, a year. With such a fortune she
might marry a prince in this country."

" Well," said Dacre. " I hope you will make her
happy."

" Do you mean that you consent . . . without
any fuss ? But I see it myself more than ever : it is a
poor marriage for her."

" I am not so sure of that," said Dacre, offering
his future brother-in-law his hand. " I confess that
at first I only half liked it."

" I only half like it now," growled Christian. " I
have no desire . . . what is your English expression
. . . to hang up my hat in my wife's hall."

" But as long as you go on with your music ..."

" My music is me. It will stop when I stop,"
said Christian : and then their discussion came to an
end. Rosamund and Joan appeared.

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"Have you finished?" said Rosamund; "we
you to come out with us."

The two men had risen, and Christian went with
Joan to the sofa at the other end of the room, and
sat down there beside her.

" Your brother has just been telling me how rich
you are/' he said discontentedly. " Why did you
hide it from me ? "

" I didn't hide it," said Joan; " I didn't think of
it. I am not rich. What nonsense! We shall just
get along."

" You must be a very bad housekeeper," said
Christian, and the idea seemed to afford him con-
solation.

"Look! look!" cried Rosamund, who had sat
down opposite her husband; "there is Aunt Betty!
What is she doing here? She ought to be at Ober-
matt."

" She has seen you," said Dacre. " You attracted
her attention. She is coming into the hotel."

" Well," said Rosamund, " we have some news
for her."

A moment later Betty knocked at the door and
came into the room.

" So you have come to Fichtenstadt after all,"
she said, rustling straight up to her niece, without
seeing the two people at the further end of the room.
" Is Mr. Ilchester here as well? "

" We are doing without him," said Dacre, giving
up his easy-chair to her.

" Quite right. But how long will that last? "

"How is it you are here, Aunt Betty?" asked
Rosamund. " I thought you were to be at Obermatt
for weeks."

Before Betty could reply, Joan came towards the
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window, followed by Christian Witt. The girl was
tranquil and smiling; the man looked both embar-
rassed and determined.

" Will you wish us joy, Frau Elsler ? " he said.
"We are betrothed." He turned to Dacre without
seeming to observe Betty's change of countenance,
and said: " You consent, do you not? I may make
it public ? "

Betty looked from one to the other, and both her •
smile and her words were two-edged when she spoke.

" I wish you both joy," she said; " I think you
both show courage."

" Why courage? " said Christian.

Betty gave her accustomed little shrug and turned .
to Joan.

" You have sung to him," she said; " are you
prepared to cook for him ? He will expect it."

" We shall take each other for better, for worse,"
said Joan placidly.

"When are you going to be married? You will
want a flat, I suppose? I will let you mine if you
like."

" We shall live in Bertholdsruhe," said Christian.

" Are you called there, then? "

"It is practically settled, but it will not be an-
nounced till next week."

" Why do you want to let your flat, Aunt Betty ? "
said Rosamund.

" Because Major Vollmar lives at Dresden."

" Is he at Obermatt again this summer ? "

" Yes. He proposes whenever he sees me. That
is why I came away."

" But . . ."

Betty had recovered her self-possession and her -
indifferent amiability.

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The Professor's Legacy

" I shall go back to-morrow," she said. " He will
meet me at the station, and we shall settle it as we
walk up the hill. I could not stand Fichtenstadt
without Christian. It is the dullest hole."
Rosamund looked quite concerned.
" I hope you will be happy, Aunt Betty," she said.
Betty said she thought she ought to be, as Major
Vollmar had considerable private means already, and
the expectation of more when a bachelor uncle died.
Then she got up to go, and said that she hoped both
Rosamund and Joan would come to her wedding.

" Which of us will be married first, I wonder? "
she said to Christian.

" I should like to be married in a fortnight,"
said he.

" That is out of the question," said Dacre; " there
are business matters to arrange that will take time.
I know what lawyers are : and there is all the German
red-tape besides. It will take weeks to convince
your Jacks-in-office that Joan is not married already.
You must wait till after Rosamund and I get back
from America; Joan is going to Scotland. We
settled it more or less this morning."

" Rosamund going to America . . . with you,"
said Betty, looking as much surprised as she felt.
" I am delighted to hear it. But what a new
departure! "

" When shall you be back from America? " asked
Christian.

" End of September probably."
" It will seem like a century," he complained.
" You are always so impatient," said Betty. " I
shall make Major Vollmar wait till October, so I hope
you will all four come to my wedding."
" We shall be in Italy," said Christian.
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" We shall be at home," said Dacre.

" You ought to come to Joan's wedding at Orma-
thwaite," said Rosamund.

" I should like to hear Mr. Sidmouth play Chris-
tian's wedding march," said Betty; and though it
was explained to her that this would not be Mr.
Sidmouth's office, she went away protesting that
she would cross the Channel in October on purpose
to hear him.

" I can't make up my mind," said Rosamund to her
husband. "Does Aunt Betty care for Christ ian?
Is she grieved that he is going to marry Joan ? "

" She took it better than I expected," said Dacre.

" Will she really marry Major Vollmar ? "

"Why not?"

" She doesn't care a bit for him."

" Well," said Dacre, " you married in that way
yourself."

"Oh! " cried Rosamund; and she held up some
roses that he had given her that morning, and looked
at them instead of at him. She was their colour as
he took them out of her hands.

" When we get home," he said, " I will show you
the one you gave me years ago at Christmas. I
kept it."

" Home," she echoed. " I never thought of
Ormathwaite as home before."

"But you do now? "

" Sapperlot," said Christian, opening the door
of the sitting-room and suddenly shutting it again*
" Those two have always something important to
say to each other, it seems . . . since yesterday.
I do not know what has happened. Do you ? "

" I guess," said Joan.

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